


one more chance (let's do it right)

by kingstqrk



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Stark Family Fluff, basically all the main characters are in this in some form or another, lots and lots of it, sansa stark is the world's last hope
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2018-12-26 01:20:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12048348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingstqrk/pseuds/kingstqrk
Summary: The Army of the Dead have won, and the living have lost...unless Sansa Stark changes it all.Sansa is given one more chance to fix everything: to go back in time and stop them from losing. When she sees her family again, she vows to herself that she will save them all. But small changes have unpredictable consequences, and the path of time never did run smooth.





	1. Chances

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! So this is my first ever ASOIAF/GoT fic, and my first fic posted on AO3. This mostly stark-centric, and there will be a lot of feels, both because of fluff and because of angst. I hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> Also a huge thank to sansastarkofwinterfell (@ashavgreyjoy on tumblr) for beta-ing this fic. I've really appreciated Hannah's insight, go check her tumblr out if you haven't already!

The world is ending, and yet all remains calm in the Godswood. Snow falls delicately, covering the leaves of the heart tree. It is a beautiful sight, and Sansa wonders if it is the last time she will ever see it. She has just spoken to Bran, and he has told her the truth.

_All is lost. Our forces are dying, and the wights multiply at such a rate that we cannot stop them. We have no hope…no hope but you, Sansa. I’ve seen it. You’re our last chance._

She collapses on the ground of the godswood, and starts sobbing. Arya had left for battle a few days earlier, adamant she had to help when the news of Daenerys’ death had reached them. The dragon queen had been grief-stricken after coming face-to-face with her dragon, now reanimated as the enemy. Once the black dragon had fallen too, all had been lost. Bran hadn’t mentioned Arya, and Sansa suspects that means the worst. Her heart aches at the thought of her little sister fighting dead men. _Please let her be alive._

Thinking of Arya makes Sansa mind turn to Jon. The last time she had seen him, he had been wearing a Targaryen sigil on his armour, but underneath the Stark one she had made for him. If he survived, he would be the only claimant to the Iron Throne. Sansa would do anything to see him once again.

The worst of it is that she is helpless here, back in Winterfell, while miles away the battle rages and dies. Bran had said she was their last hope, but surely that was a cruel joke, for Sansa could do nothing.

She heard footsteps behind her. She turns around and sees Maester Wolkan standing there. Immediately, she surges towards him.

“What is it?” she demands. “Is there more news?”

“My lady,” he says, not meeting her eyes. “Lord Brandon has just instructed me to tell you…Lord Jon is dead.”

The air is taken from Sansa’s lungs.

_No, no, no._

_We are truly lost._

_Jon…_

The man is still speaking, even as Sansa’s world comes down around her. Her parents, Robb, Rickon, and now Jon and everyone in the North, have all been lost.

“My lady, you have a visitor.”

And behind the man steps forwards a woman in red robes dusted with snow. A blood-red pendant glows around her neck.

“Lady Melisandre,” Sansa gasps, and hope replaces grief. “You’re here.”

“I’m sorry I did not arrive sooner,” the woman says softly.

Sansa does not know her well, but she knows that she was the one who raised Jon before. “You must bring Jon back to life.” Sansa clings onto her robes in desperation. “He’s our last hope, he rides Rhaegal, the third dragon. You have to!”

“I can’t,” Melisandre says firmly, and Sansa wants to grab her by the hair and convince her otherwise, but the Red Woman continues to speak. “I will never get there in time.”

“You have to do something!” Sansa screams, her voice echoing around the Godswood.

“I will.” Melisandre looks her dead in the eye, and Sansa shivers. “You are our last hope.”

_That is what Bran said._

“What can I do?” she asks desperately.

“There is a spell I read of in Asshai…a spell to be used on the eve of the world’s end. A spell that will give you one more chance to fix everything.”

“How?” Sansa demands.

Melisandre opens her mouth slowly. “The Lord of Light can send you back in time.”

* * *

 

“I’m not sure it will work,” Melisandre warns one more time.

Sansa is lying down in the godswood, next to the fire Melisandre has already built. “It’s our best chance.”

“Remember, I’m not sure what time you will be sent back to. But wherever it is, you shall have one week to change things. After that, you will get one week every year, until either you reach the present day again, or the Army of the Dead are defeated.” Sansa memorises what Melisandre says, knowing how important it will be.

 _One week each year. That’s all I have._ Sansa’s gut feeling is that it won’t be long enough, but this is their only option.

Melisandre pauses. “I must warn you, if the spell doesn’t work…you will die.”

Sansa might have laughed. “I’m going to die either way, My Lady. But at least this way, I might save humanity.”

“You might,” Melisandre agrees softly, and her pendant glows brighter. “You might just save us all, Sansa Stark.”

And then Melisandre starts chanting in a tongue she does not understand.

The snow falls thicker and faster now, so thick it is almost a blizzard. Sansa can hardly hear Melisandre, but she can feel the ground shaking, and she can feel the relentless snowdrops on her face.

At first Sansa thinks this spell might just succeed, but then the fire starts to sputter out. The rumbling of the ground recedes. 

 _It’s not working_ , Sansa thinks desperately. And for the first time in many moons, Sansa closes her eyes and prays. She prays to the faceless, nameless gods of her father, and to the seven gods of her mother, to the old gods and the new. She would even pray to the Drowned God if she knew how.  

_Please. Give me one more chance to save everyone…to save my family._

Sansa feels a spark rush through her. She can’t see Melisandre anymore through the thick snowfall, but she can hear whispers of her chanting an ancient spell. The ground moves faster, and snow is surrounding Sansa but she can hardly feel the cold. Energy pulses through her, and Sansa’s vision folds in on itself. She can only see white light, and gradually the rattle of the ground transitions into a ringing sound in her ears.

Suddenly, the world turns black, and for a moment Sansa wonders if she is dying. But her eyes slowly open, and the deafening ringing is replaced by pure, blissful silence.

She is no longer lying on the cold ground, but on a soft bed, blankets covering her. She sits up straight, and she immediately recognises her old chambers in Winterfell, and the sleeping direwolf at the foot of her bed that she has not seen in many years.

 _It worked_ , Sansa thinks, a smile spreading across her face. _I’m back. I’m truly home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hoped you liked it! Please leave a comment letting me know what you thought. You can also find me on tumblr @percy-the-sorcerer (my main) or @kingstqrk (my game of thrones sideblog).
> 
> As you can tell, this was mostly an introductory chapter. The next chapter (which will be longer) should be posted soon, I've already started work on it. There'll be a lot of reunions between Sansa and others, I've really enjoyed writing it. In the mean time please let me know if you liked this :)


	2. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa is home, and home is where her family is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Sorry this chapter took a while, but I was trying to get a bit ahead in terms of writing. This chapter contains a lot of reunions, and I wanted to make sure it turned out okay. I hope you like it! 
> 
> A small note: this story follows on from the show, but elements of the books have slipped their way into the story. At times we'll see a mix of the two canons, but I'll make sure it's not confusing. 
> 
> Thanks to my beta @ashavgreyjoy on tumblr for checking this chapter :)

When Sansa slips out of her bed, it almost feels like a dream. She can immediately tell she is much younger, and adjusting to her old body is eerie.  

 _I am but a maid of three-and-ten, surely._ If Sansa was around thirteen, and she was in Winterfell…this must have been before her father had become Hand of the King and taken them to King’s Landing. Jolts of electricity arc through Sansa, as a plan formulates in her mind. She could change everything…she could save her family, keep them safe.

A movement catches her eye, as the direwolf at the foot of her bed woke up. “Lady!” Sansa exclaims, and rushes to hug her. She grips her fur with her fingers and buries her face in Lady’s neck. She would stop Lady from dying. She never wants to lose her direwolf again.

Lady licks her on the cheek and Sansa giggles for the first time in what must have been years. “I’ve missed you, Lady. Where’s everyone else?”

Together, Sansa and Lady leave the chambers. Sansa is still in her night-gown, but she doesn’t care, she is too desperate to see her family again.

She walks through the corridors of Winterfell, and even though she has been living in the castle for the past year, it still feels so different. This castle is inhabited by the Starks, _all of them_ , and it feels lively and lived in and like _home_.

Suddenly she sees a boy turn around the corner.

“Jon!” Sansa rushes towards him and throws her arms round his neck and hugs him hard, much to his surprise. It is so good to see him alive after just hearing he had died in the old world. Jon looks so different to how he does now: his hair hangs loose, and he is much skinnier, only a boy and not a man…but his eyes, kind and gentle, are the same.

“Sansa?” Jon asks in surprise, and at first Sansa is confused by his reaction, but then she remembers. In the old world, she and Jon had reconciled, but here, Jon was probably surprised at any display of affection from her.

“Sorry,” Sansa says, pulling back. “I was just happy to see you.”

“Oh.” The corners of Jon’s mouth pull back into a slight smile, and Sansa beams.

“I’m sorry if I’ve been mean to you recently,” Sansa says sincerely.

Jon looks even more taken aback. “It’s, uh, alright. But you haven’t been mean.”

Sansa knows she will have to spend more time with Jon later, to make up for how her childhood-self treated him, but first she needs to meet everyone else. “Where’s Robb, Jon? And Rickon?” Out of all her siblings, those are the two she needs to see the most.

“Oh, they were actually just behind me, they should be here any sec—“

And then Robb appears, grinning, his hair mussed up and looking just like when Sansa last saw him, saying goodbye in the Winterfell courtyard, and Sansa thinks her heart might burst.

Now it is Robb Sansa is running to and hugging, and Robb responds with enthusiasm, laughing. “What’s got into you, huh?” he teases.

“Just glad to see you,” Sansa says, and blinks away the tears that come to her eyes. Robb and Sansa had always had a special relationship. If Jon and Arya had had a bond, then that had been what Robb and Sansa had. He had been the knight in her games, he had always watched out for her. Sansa has missed him so much.

And then Rickon catches up, asking what’s going on, and Sansa scoops him up and kisses his cheek and his forehead and all over, until he squirms and begs her to stop, but he giggles and it warms her inside.

“Seven hells, Sansa, what’s got into you?” Robb asks, even though the broad smile on his face clearly indicates he’s enjoying it. “Are you still happy about Prince Joffrey?”

A cold shiver runs down her spine. “Joffrey?” Suddenly the pieces click into place. She has Lady, which means Jon Arryn has already died… “Where is he?”

“Still on the Kingsroad,” Robb tells her. “There’s been no news since you last asked, Sansa.” 

The King is one his way to Winterfell, along with all the Lannisters. Sansa has less time than she thought.

“Where’s Father and Mother?” Sansa says quickly. As much as she wants to spend another few hours with her brothers, there’ll be time for that later. She needs to find her parents.

“In their solar. But what’s with all the questions? But why—“

Robb is cut off by Sansa running away in the opposite direction. “I’ll explain later,” she yells back. She hears Robb give an exasperated sigh and mutter, “ _Girls,”_ but she doesn’t turn around. Her heart is pumping fast: she was about to see her parents again.

She reaches her father’s solar and knocks on the door. Blood pounds in her ears. The image of her father’s head on the spike in King’s Landing comes back to her mind.

But then she hears a voice say, “Come in,” and it’s her father’s voice, it’s the voice of Lord Eddard Stark. And Sansa pushes the door open, and sure enough her father is standing in front of his desk, reading a piece of parchment.

He looks up when Sansa opens the door. “Sansa?” he asks, surprised.

He’s living and breathing, he’s flesh and blood, he’s _alive_ and he’s right there in front of Sansa.

Without hesitating Sansa surges forward and barrels into her father, hugging him tightly. She feels tears come to her eyes again, and for the first time in years she feels safe in her father’s arms.

“Sansa, sweetling?” her father asks, clearly concerned. He wraps his arms around her, and she buries her face in his chest, fearing he will disappear if she lets go. “What’s wrong?”

But before Sansa can respond, the door opens again.

“Maester Luwin says we have enough in the kitchens for—“ Catelyn stops, blinking. “Sansa?”

Sansa’s mother is as beautiful as Sansa remembered, as strong and vibrant. Sansa rushes to her now. Her mother’s embrace is warm and soft and comforting, exactly as she remembered. It is everything Sansa had dreamed of when she was in King’s Landing. And now Sansa cannot help it, but tears stream unbidden from her face.

She has not cried properly in years, not since she was a child. Then again, she is a child once more, and she still can’t process the fact she is with her parents.

Ned joins them, once again putting his arms around Sansa.

“What happened?” Catelyn asks Ned, stroking Sansa’s hair and placing a kiss on her forehead. Ned simply shrugs helplessly.

Minutes go by and Sansa is held in her parents’ arms, and her tears dry up. Her parents are looking at her in concern.

“I’m fine,” she tells them both.

“What’s wrong?” her mother asks. “Is it something that happened with Arya? Or one of your brothers?”

“No, it’s not that. I had—I had a bad dream,” Sansa says, and in a way, it’s almost the truth. It almost feels like everything that happened in the old world was some form of nightmare, and she has finally woken up. “I’m fine now. I promise.”

Ned looks at her doubtfully. “Do you want to go back to bed? I can stay with you for a while, sweetling.”

Sansa remembers the many times her father offered that in King’s Landing, and the many times she stormed away in refusal. Her heart pangs at the thought, and she hugs her father now to thank him. “It’s okay, Father. I promise, I’m fine now.”

“If you’re okay, run along and find Septa Mordane, will you Sansa?” Catelyn says, still looking at Sansa. “I’ll come and find you later, after Father and I have finished this work. I’ll look at your stitching like you wanted yesterday.”

“Thank you, mother.” For a second she’s tempted to tell them to truth, to make sure it doesn’t all go horribly wrong again. But Sansa waits. She needs to think things through first, to plan, to make sure she can stop it all. Sansa curtseys, another thing she has not done in who knows long, and leaves the solar. She feels a twinge of sadness when she leaves the solar, but she knows unlike before, she will see her parents again. They’re not going anywhere this time.

She’s about to go look for Septa Mordane (she thinks it would be nice to see her again) like her mother said, when she hears laughter from the courtyard. Laughter she recognises.

A minute later and she’s outside in the fresh air. Though it is much warmer than when Sansa was in Winterfell in the old world, snow dusts the ground. _A late summer snow_ , she thinks. It is still summer, she realises. _Winter is coming, though. Winter is coming for us all, and only I can stop it._

She sees Arya throwing a snowball at Bran, and Bran retaliates. They are both so young, both so happy. Arya is not an assassin, and Bran is _Bran_ , not the three-eyed raven. He is the sweet boy from before his fall. Sansa can only watch.

Then Arya catches sight of her, and she sighs. “Sansa, are you going to try and stop us again? Ever since you heard about Joffrey, you’re too busy to—“

Arya is cut off by a snowball to her face. Bran starts snickering, and then Sansa throws one at him too. Soon they are all engaged in an intense game, all of them laughing. Arya smiles at Sansa, and Sansa thinks maybe she has a chance to set more than a few things right.

Soon Robb and Jon hear them, and they join in. Even Rickon tries to be included in the fun. Sansa can’t remember the last time she’s had so much fun, and soon they’ve split into teams. As she plays, she doesn’t miss the look of surprise on her sibling’s faces that she is playing, let alone in her night-gown.

“Aren’t you cold?” Jon asks her when they are both ducked behind a barricade of snow they have built.

Sansa thinks of how cold it was when Melisandre had sent her back in time, how this is nothing compared to that. She thinks about how she is so warm inside, so happy and glowing to be with her family again, that she barely feels a chill.

But Sansa simply shrugs. “Maybe a little bit,” she responds, before chucking a bit of snow at Jon and running away, laughing. And a little piece that Sansa was missing for all those years in her heart seems to be restored.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hoped you liked that! I really enjoyed writing Sansa seeing her family again, I got a bit emotional to be honest. 
> 
> I'm sorry this chapter was a bit on the shorter side. The next one is much longer, and we'll start to see the beginning of the action, as the Lannisters arrive at Winterfell! 
> 
> Please leave a comment, I'd love to know what you guys think :)


	3. Old and New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The King arrives at Winterfell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, here is a longer chapter. The plot really kicks off in this chapter, I hope you like it! 
> 
> As always thanks to sansastarkofwinterfell (@ashavgreyjoy) who did a great job of beta-ing this chapter :)

The following days don’t feel quite real. Sansa takes advantage of every opportunity to be with her family. She is almost giddy when she they eat dinner in the great hall, Jon sitting up front by them. It’s been years since she last got to eat dinner with her family, or break fast with them…but of course, for the rest of her family it has only been hours. They all seem to be confused by Sansa’s change in attitude.

“What happened with you?” Arya asks every so often, suspiciously. Bran and Rickon don’t comment on any changes, Rickon because he is too young and Bran because he is too sweet, but Robb, Jon and Theon also seem perplexed.

“Are you feeling okay, Sansa?” Robb jokes every time Sansa spends time with them playing in the courtyard. Jon smiles at the jokes, and no doubt he wonders too, but he is much too polite to say anything.

Theon also makes jokes. When Sansa first saw Theon, she gave him a hug as well. Theon saved her in the other world, and even though he had betrayed them he had earned their forgiveness. This Theon is nothing like the other one though, he is still young and carefree, still best friends with Robb. Sansa prays it remains that way, for her family’s sake, and for Theon’s. He did not deserve what happened to him.

Sansa doesn’t blame them when they wonder what has happened. She remembers what she used to be like: she could be bratty and spoilt, petty and mean. She was not carefree or overly affectionate, not like she is now that is back with her family.

Sometimes it hurts her, the comments they make, the surprise they show when she is kind or loving or fun. It hurts her, but she does not say anything. _I will change_ , she wants to tell them. _I am as much a Stark as all of you._

It is only when night arrives the next day, that Sansa realises she has not formed a plan yet. The King is arriving tomorrow and still Sansa does not know what to do. She takes a piece of parchment and some ink, and writes down some thoughts.

She will not go to King’s Landing again. She does not want to be engaged to Joffrey, and she will never be a hostage of the Lannisters again. She will stay at Winterfell, at home, and make sure they are ready to fight the army of the dead when the time comes.

Her father cannot be executed, either. That is what causes everything. She cannot let Robb march south, only to die along with Sansa’s mother. She would have to stop her father from becoming Hand…but how? How could she do that? Would she have to tell him the truth? He would never believe her. She would have to find some way to convince him.

She moves on to a list of things that should still happen in this world. At the top is Jon becoming part of the Night’s Watch. He was instrumental in the fight against the Whitewalkers, and it is because of him that they began their war. Jon truly grew to the man he became on the Wall. If they are to win this time, he needs to do the same. Sansa does not like the thought of being parted from Jon for who knows how long again, not after he became so important to her life in the previous world, but she knows it is necessary.

It is Bran and Arya she thinks of next. _Arya can’t go to King’s Landing either_ , she thinks. And, besides, if their father doesn’t die Arya will never need to become a faceless man. It is Bran that is the real problem. If he is to become the three-eyed raven, then he must fall from his tower.

But Sansa can’t let that happen. She can’t lose Bran again. _And this time we don’t need him_ , Sansa thinks adamantly. _I know what will happen. We can use my knowledge_.

Sansa puts down the piece of parchment, her brain hurting from considering all these different possibilities. She crawls into bed and pulls Lady next to her. That is how she falls asleep, snuggled up with her direwolf, and that is how she is woken up many hours later.

“Sansa!” her mother’s surprised voice rings out clear. “What are you still doing in bed, sweetling? You never wake up this late.”

Sansa blinks drearily. Her mother’s right: it is unlike her to sleep in like this. But she hasn’t slept with Lady in so long, and it was so comforting. “Sorry, mother,” she says, yawning and standing up.

“You must get changed quickly,” Catelyn says, pulling out a dress for Sansa, looking slightly stressed. “The King will be arriving very soon.”

At that Sansa is reminded of who she will have to see. She almost asks her mother if she has to be there, but she doesn’t utter her question, knowing it is silly

Ten minutes later and Sansa is dressed up with help of a maid. She leaves her chambers and runs straight into Theon, who is scowling.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, taken aback.

“I have to comb my hair, apparently,” Theon grumbles. “I don’t see why I have to be there to meet the king, I’m not a Stark.”

Sansa isn’t sure if she is imagining the bitterness in his tone, but she knows how Theon truly felt. He told her in the old world that he always wanted to be a Stark, and the fact he felt like an outsider is one of the reasons why he is betrayed them. Sansa doesn’t want him to make the same mistake in this world.

“You’re not a Stark in name alone,” Sansa says firmly. “Neither is Jon. But you’re both family. Robb loves you like a brother, and you’re practically a son to our father.”

Theon looks surprised at that, but then a shadow passes over his face again. “A son who your father would kill if _my_ father stepped out of line.”

Sansa scoffs. “If you truly think that, Theon, you’re dumber than you look,” she teases. That cracks a small smile out of him. Sansa knows her father is dutiful, but executing Theon is a duty he would not be able to complete. Sansa puts a hand on Theon’s arm. “You’re part of the family, Theon,” she says softly. “You know that, don’t you?”

Theon meets Sansa’s eyes. “Thank you, Sansa,” he says, and for once there is no trace of sarcasm in his voice. She can see his gratitude on his face. 

Sansa smiles. She may be younger, but she has lost none of her diplomatic skills. “Now, come on, let’s go the courtyard. It’s time to greet the King.” _And the Lannisters_ , Sansa thinks.

****

Sansa wonders why she had to be woken up when they end up waiting hours for the King’s arrival. It is evening when the horn finally signals that the royal party has reached. The King rides in first, as large and loud as Sansa remembers. He hugs Ned, and then Catelyn, and soon he is greeting Sansa, admiring her beauty. Sansa remembers how pleased she was at his compliment last time, yet this time all she can think of is how the King wants to marry her off to Joffrey.

And just as his name enters his thoughts, she sees him, along with his mother. Two of the people she has hated most. In the previous world, she had fallen in love with both of them upon first sight, and yet now she only sees them for the true monsters they are, fake smiles on both their golden faces. She wonders how silly she was to worship them, and also how vulnerable she was, a naïve little girl taken in by two beasts in golden skin.

And then she sees the Kingslayer, Arya pointing him out to her. He looks positively bored, and he still has two hands. Sansa had come to respect him as he pledged himself to fight the army of the dead, but he was a changed man back then. The Jaime Lannister who stands in front of them is the same one who would push a child out of a window, and bed his sister. She prays he can find his way back to the Jaime Lannister who abandoned Cersei to fight in the great war.

Finally comes Tyrion, and Sansa is truly glad to see him. He is less scarred, and he has no beard, but his eyes still sparkle with mischief. He kisses Sansa’s hand when he greets her. In the previous world she might have recoiled, Sansa remembers to her shame, but right now she only smiles back at him sweetly. He looks pleasantly surprised.

Robert and her father leave for the crypts, and fear consumes Sansa. What if Robert asks Ned to be his hand now? What if he proposes the marriage between Sansa and Joffrey now? Worst of all, what if her father accepts immediately? It will be much harder to change an agreement that has already been settled.

She is shaken out of her thoughts by her mother. “Sansa, Robb, come with me while we show the Queen and her children to their chambers. Maester Luwin, take Arya, Bran and Rickon to Septa Mordane to get ready for the feast tonight. Theon, show Ser Jaime and his brother to their chambers, will you?” Sansa feels sympathy for Jon, as her mother refuses to address him. She does not blame her mother. It must be hard for her, and Sansa wishes Ned had told her the truth.

Together, they move through the corridors of Winterfell. Her mother is making polite talk with the Queen, who has a smile on her face. Her eyes betray her boredom, however. Sansa can now see the forced courtesy shown by both the women, something she had been blind to before. Sansa is so lost in her thought she is taken aback when Cersei looks at her.

“How old are you, my dear?” she asks.

“Three-and-ten,” Sansa says back. Almost a second passes before Sansa remembers to add, “your Grace.” Catelyn shoots Sansa an odd look, but makes no comment.

The Queen’s smile widens. “Why, you’re only a few years younger than Joffrey. Isn’t that right, Joff?”

“Yes, mother.” Joffrey’s smile is sickening as he looks at Sansa. Once she would have mistaken his look as charming and it would have made her heart flutter, but the hunger in his eyes, like a predator looking at prey, only makes Sansa’s stomach turn now.

Luckily, she is soon saved from the situation. They reach the Lannister’s chambers, and soon Catelyn is dismissing Sansa and Robb to get ready for the feast in an hour.

Robb looks at Sansa as they walk to their chambers. “You already fallen in love with the prince yet, sister?” he teases, knowing how much she loved princes as a child.

“No,” Sansa says quietly. “Not yet.” _Not ever._

Robb’s gaze softens, and he puts an arm around Sansa. “I’ve heard he’s awful. Don’t be too upset if he doesn’t live up to what you always dream a prince is like, okay?”

“I’ll be fine, Robb,” Sansa responds. “I promise. It’s you who should be worried. I saw the way Princess Myrcella looked at you. I think someone has a crush,” she jests.

Robb makes a puking noise. “I’d much rather marry someone my own age, thank you very much,” he responds, offended.

The mention of Robb’s marriage is too much, and Sansa falters. “Don’t marry—” she begins, before remembering how crazy it will sound if she finishes her sentence.

“What?” Robb asks, confused, as they pull to a stop outside her bedchamber.

“Don’t marry Myrcella,” Sansa finishes weakly. Robb only laughs, and musses her hair (something which always annoyed her as a child, which is why Robb did it), before walking off. _It’s okay_ , Sansa tells herself. _He will never even go south to meet Jeyne Westerling. I will make sure of that._

Sansa spends the next hour changing into _another_ dress, and dreading the feast tonight. She remembers that she will have to be escorted by Joffrey, and the thought of having to pretend to like the prince makes her want to vomit. It is something she thought she would never have to do again after leaving King’s Landing.

An hour later, and Sansa has left for the hall. Most of the men and the women were already inside, like Jon and Uncle Benjen. Joffrey approaches her, his eyes raking up and down her body.

“I must say, Lady Sansa, I’d heard tales of your beauty, but they didn’t quite do you justice.”

Sansa resists the urge to shudder. “Why, thank you, my lord. You look beautiful too.”

For a second, Joffrey’s perfect mask slips and anger shows. Then he laughs. “My lady jests by calling me beautiful. Men are handsome, my love, not beautiful.” Sansa rages at the way Joffrey looks at her like a dumb girl, too dumb to know the difference between the two words. Joffrey meets her eyes once more. “I must say, I’d heard you were taller. I’m glad you’re not taller than me.”

“What a coincidence,” Sansa says sweetly. “I’d heard you were taller too.”

Joffrey’s lips pull down into a brief scowl, and Sansa hears Arya snort from next to Tommen. Before Joffrey can respond, the doors to the hall open, and soon they enter. First Sansa’s father and the Queen, then the King and Sansa’s mother, then Robb and Myrcella, and next are Sansa and Joffrey. Joffrey holds his arm out, and reluctantly Sansa takes it.

All eyes turn to them as they make their way through the hall. She smiles at Benjen and Jon as they pass them, and soon they are at the head table. Sansa takes a seat between Myrcella and Joffrey.

The dinner is tortuous. Sansa spends as much time as possible talking to Myrcella, whic Joffrey doesn’t seem to like. When an off-comment by Robb reveals that one of Sansa’s favourite stories is of Aemon the Dragonknight, he takes his chance.

“You believe that story, do you, my lady?” Joffrey said, his tone pleasant, but Sansa could see the vicious glee in him, as only someone who knew him well could. “You shouldn’t believe everything you hear in the tales.”

“Of course not, my lord. I only believed them when I was a small child. The stories also say that all princes are gallant, tall and muscular. But not everything in the tales are true, are they?” Sansa asks. Her tone is honey-sweet, and she says no more for fear of outright provoking Joffrey, but she can see her barb stings. She feels a pinch of satisfaction, but she’s also glad no one else heard. It would not do for her family to think she was purposely aggravating Prince Joffrey, and she did not want to cause discord between her parents and the Lannisters.

Sansa’s behaviour means Joffrey finds it harder to play the part of romantic prince. His façade slips easier, and Sansa often catches him scowling or snapping at servants. She is immensely glad when the feast is over and she can return to her chambers.

When she crawls into bed, she pulls the covers over her, but all she can’t get to sleep. All she can think of is what lies in store for her, for her family, if she doesn’t do something.

****

“Sansa, your needlework is as lovely as usual,” Septa Mordane comments. She bypasses Arya’s work and looks at Myrcella’s. “But I must say, the Princess’ seems to be even better today. Look at it!” the Septa marvels.

As the Septa chatters to Myrcella, Sansa tries to think over her plan again. She’s trying to figure out a way to convince her father not to go to King’s Landing, when Jeyne Poole, her sweet, innocent friend, starts speaking.

“My father heard a rumour from one of the kitchen girls that you’re going to be engaged to Joffrey, Sansa,” Jeyne says excitedly.

Sansa’s heart plummets. Ha _s Father already agreed to it? Am I too late?_

Arya seems to notice the look of panic on Sansa’s face. Over the past two days Arya has been constantly wary with Sansa, as if she was playing some big trick on her, but she is slowly being desensitised to Sansa’s new behaviour. “If you don’t want to marry him, Sansa, you don’t have to,” Arya says fiercely. Sansa feels a surge of affection towards her sister.

“Of course Sansa wants to marry him,” Jeyne says, confused. “You two looked so radiant together last night.”

Arya ignored her. “Sansa, if you don’t want to marry him, you should go speak to Father.”

Sansa nods lightly. “I want to speak to him as soon as possible,” Sansa says honestly. “Before it’s too late.”

“Go now,” Arya resolves.

“What?” Jeyne asks.

“Jeyne and I will distract the Septa,” says Arya.

“We will?” intercedes Jeyne again.

“You sneak out. By the time she realises you’re gone, you’ll already be with Father and she can’t do anything then.”

Sansa agrees. She may not have a plan, but she needs to get through to her Father. “Thank you, Arya,” she says sincerely.

Arya simply nods. “Now, go!” At that Arya drops her needle on Jeyne’s foot, before raising her eyebrows. Reluctantly, Jeyne plays along, shouting in pain. The septa immediately bustles over to Jeyne, scolding Arya while she inspects her foot, and Sansa runs out of the door.

Sansa is nearly at her Father’s solar when she runs into the Queen and Tyrion. She is surprised to see them together: she knows Cersei disliked Tyrion.

Cersei smiles at Sansa. “What are you doing here, Lady Sansa? I thought you were in class with Myrcella.”

For all the skills and strength Sansa has gained, she loses her words when faced with the Queen again. Cersei is intimidating, and she feels like a little girl again, until Tyrion speaks up for her.

“Judging by her direction she’s going outside to make sure her direwolf is fine,” Tyrion suggests. “Have you seen them, Cersei? They’re beautiful creatures. Jon Snow’s one is pure white.”

“Mine is grey,” Sansa says, going with Tyrion’s lie. “She’s called Lady.”

Cersei moves forward and runs her hand through Sansa’s hair. Sansa stiffens. “Lady,” Cersei says slowly, testing the name out in her lips. “That’s what you are, isn’t it?” Cersei looks Sansa in the eye. “A perfect little lady. I’d heard as much, but it’s different seeing you. You’re certainly as beautiful, but maybe there’s more going on with you than I expected.”

Sansa doesn’t say anything, but nor does she remove her gaze from Cersei’s, refusing to back down.

“You talked with Joffrey last night.” It isn’t a question. “Did you like him?”

“The prince is very…interesting,” Sansa says carefully. Her word choice isn’t lost on Cersei.

“Maybe you do have what it takes to be Queen,” she murmurs, more to herself than anyone. And with that her hand leaves Sansa’s skin, and she is walking away. Sansa exhales, and exchanges a look with Tyrion.

“You must forgive my sister,” Tyrion says lightly. “She hasn’t taken very well to the cold.” Sansa just nods. “But, you should get going. I doubt you want to be stuck here talking with me of all the Lannisters.”

At that, Sansa responds. “Why not?” she asks. “I’ve heard you’re the smartest Lannister. You’re also the nicest.”

“And the ugliest,” Tyrion jokes.

“But not the cruellest,” Sansa repeats firmly. “That means something.”

Tyrion looks at her strangely. “I see you’re more familiar with Joff than we realised.” Tyrion seems like he’s trying to piece something together. “You sound wiser than your years, Lady Sansa. I think I’ll remember you.”

And with that, Tyrion also walks off. Sansa stands there for a second, wondering if she revealed too much, if she gave it away. But it’s important that Tyrion likes her. If he still goes to Daenerys’, then they may need him to once again convince Daenerys to join their side. And this time Sansa won’t have the benefit of a previous marriage with Tyrion, as she’s adamant she will never get to that stage.

That thought reminds her of her original purpose, and she soon reaches her Father’s solar. She knocks on the door, and is called in.

Ned looks up. He looks even more surprised to see her than he did three days ago. “Sansa, aren’t you meant to be with the Septa?”

“I needed to talk to you,” Sansa says softly.

“About what?” Ned asks, concern entering his tone.

“I don’t want to marry Joffrey,” she begins with.

“Who told you?” he asks.

“Have you already said yes?”

“Of course not,” Ned says, taking Sansa’s hand in his own. “I would never do that without asking you. But I thought you would be happy. You always wanted to marry a prince.”

Sansa looks at him, and she realises the only way she will be able to convince him is if she tells the truth. How else can she possibly convince him not to go to King’s Landing? He will think she is just a small, scared girl.

“I did,” Sansa says. “In my past life.”

Ned looks at her sharply. “What did you say?”

“Can you call Mother?” Sansa asks. “She should be here for this.”

“First, Sansa, what are you talking about?” Ned asks.

Sansa knows she will need to convince him somehow. “I know Jon Snow is the son of Aunt Lyanna,” Sansa says, knowing that she will need evidence. “I thought I should say that before Mother comes. You should have the chance to tell her the truth yourself.” Sansa didn’t particularly want to be present for that conversation. She knew her mother had been hurt over Jon and she can imagine unpleasant words between her parents when she was told the truth, but she needs to know.

For the first time ever, Sansa sees her Father lost for words. She finds it almost comical how the usually stoney-faced Eddard Stark’s eyes open wide as he begins to sweat and struggle for what to say.

“Sansa,” he says slowly. “Why—what makes you think that?”

“I know it’s the truth, Father. He’s the son of Rhaegar Targaryen.”

Ned makes sure the door is shut, as if he thinks someone might hear. “Sansa, how—“

“I’m from the future,” Sansa says abruptly. “It’s a long story. Now please Father, get Mother. I have a lot to tell you both.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked that!
> 
> The next chapter is even longer than this one. Hopefully it'll be posted soon, but I want to stay on top of this story. As always come chat to me on tumblr (@kingstqrk) and please leave a comment letting me know what you thought :)


	4. Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa tells her parents the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter, and as promised it's the longest one yet :) Sorry for leaving you on that cliffhanger for a bit longer than usual! 
> 
> As always thanks to sansastarkofwinterfell for being my beta, I probably wouldn't have even posted this in the first place if it wasn't for her!

 “The Army of the Dead?” Catelyn asks. “A red priestess sending you back in time? Sansa, this is all—“

“I know it sounds crazy,” Sansa says. “But you have to believe me.” Upon seeing the doubt on her mother’s face, she turns to her father. “What I just told you, that proves something.”

“What did she just tell you?” Catelyn asks, confused.

“I’ll explain later,” Ned says softly. They are sitting in her father’s solar. Sansa has told her parents the truth about why she is acting differently, but she is unsurprised that they don’t seem to believe her. Her parents are very practical people, the kind to believe in what they see alone, her father especially. She knew the task of convincing them would be a difficult one.

“I have more proof,” Sansa says. “You got a letter last night, no?” Her parents exchange looks. “A letter from Aunt Lysa claiming that Jon Arryn was killed by the Lannisters.”

Sansa’s mother pales at this. “Sansa, did you overhear us? How could you know—“

“You know how, mother,” Sansa says gently. In this situation, for the first time in her life, she feels older than her parents. It is an odd sensation. “I’m telling the truth.”

Catelyn takes a deep breath, then steels her eyes. Ned remains quiet, and Sansa does not know what he is thinking, but she can tell her mother is trying to take this news on board. “Okay, Sansa, if what you are saying is true…what happens in the future? What happens to us?”

Sansa has been dreading this. “I’m going to change the future,” she says. “Remember that.” _Remember that as I tell you all the horrors that befall our family_.

And then Sansa tells them. She tells them the whole sorry story, about what happens to them, what happens in Westeros and Essos, what happens in the Great War. She can see her parents are finding it upsetting. _How could they not, when they hear what their children go through without them?_

When her mother hears of Ned’s beheading, she grips Ned’s hand, and they both sit down when Sansa explains what happened at the Red Wedding. Sansa feels guilty, overwhelmingly guilty, but she can’t explain why. She wants to apologise to them, she wants to stop and let them process it all, but she marches on with her explanation.

When she finally finishes, explaining the death of the dragons, and how they lost the war, there is a silence. It is an agonising silence that stretches on until Sansa finally speaks, unable to bear it any longer.

“I know it sounds impossible, but you have to believe me—“

“We believe you,” Ned says quietly. Sansa looks at him, stunned.

“You do?”

“Yes. You like stories, Sansa, but even you can’t make something like that up,” Ned says, trying to make a joke. And then Sansa’s mother is surging forward and taking Sansa in her arms.

“Oh, my love, I’m so sorry,” Catelyn murmurs into Sansa’s hair. “I’m so sorry you had to go through all of that.”

Ned moves forward and puts his hand on Catelyn’s back. He looks at Sansa. “Is that why you were so emotional when you saw us a few days ago?” Sansa simply nods, and feels her mother tighten her hug.

“I’m going to prevent it,” Sansa says, when Catelyn finally breaks away. “I promise.”

“How?” her mother asks.

“You can’t go south,” she says immediately. “Father, you cannot become Hand of the King. You can’t take Arya and me. That’s how it all goes wrong, you become embroiled in conflict with the Lannisters, and then…then I became a hostage,” Sansa says, not finishing her statement, unable to bring herself to talk about her father’s death again.

“But what about the white walkers?” Catelyn asks. “How will we defeat them?”

“We need to start focusing on them sooner. If you stay in Winterfell, Father—“

“I can’t,” Ned says suddenly.

“What?”

“I can’t refuse the King,” Ned explains. “That will be an outright insult. The Lannisters will use it to their advantage, they’ll create trouble.”

Catelyn looks at Ned incredulously. “Ned—“

Ned looks at her sadly. “It was you who said that yesterday, Cat.” He took her hand. “You know that I can’t refuse. I shall go south, but I won’t take the girls. If—no, _when_ —I die, don’t come south. Keep our armies in the north, and don’t join the conflict in the south.”

Catelyn shakes her head adamantly. “No. No, no, Ned, how can I let that happen?”

“We have no choice—“ Ned says helplessly, but Sansa interrupts him.

“That may not be true,” she says. “There may be another option.”

“What?”

“When we were in King’s Landing…there was a point when Robert dismissed you as Hand, over a fight about the assassination of Daenerys Targaryen. We were meant to leave, but first you investigated Jon Arryn’s movements before his death. You were then confronted by Jaime Lannister over Tyrion Lannister’s arrest. But if mother never arrests Tyrion, that shouldn’t happen. You have to leave King’s Landing then, and you will be able to return to Winterfell.”

Ned considers what she has said. “Leaving King’s Landing…that might be a bigger offence than refusing Robert in the first place.”

Sansa shakes her head. “It can just be explained as a misunderstanding, a fight between two old friends. Either way, it shouldn’t matter. The King will be dead soon.”

Ned’s face darkens. “Murdered by his own wife. I never trusted the Lannisters, but this? The children aren’t even his…gods be good, he’s my _friend_. How can I do this?”

Sansa feels helpless. “I know it can’t be easy, but this needs to happen if _Westeros_ is going to survive. Robert can’t be on the throne when Daenerys comes to Westeros. All she ever wanted is to get rid of the Usurper and that means she would go south rather than north. And without her dragons we might not be able to win this war.”

Catelyn looks at Ned. “Ned…you have to do this.”

Ned stays silent for a few seconds, but eventually he nods. “And once he is dead, then what? We have the Lannisters on the throne.”

“You can declare for Stannis,” Sansa says quickly. “That’s what you tried to do before you were...”

Catelyn understands immediately, and saves her from having to say the words. “And then they take the Iron Throne?”

“No,” Ned says before Sansa can speak. “A war in the south was what caused problems before, Sansa said so. If we are to fight the white walkers, we need the northern armies in good condition. We can’t waste time fighting in the south.”

Sansa nodded in agreement. “You need to convince Stannis to turn north, Father. He did it before, he must be convinced to do so again. If your forces remain strong when we fight the army of the dead, that could make all the difference.” Stannis was the one king who had actually believed in the stories beyond the wall. Sansa knew his support could mean the difference between survival and defeat again.

“But that leaves the Lannisters on the throne,” Catelyn argued. “We can’t turn north with them in power. Especially if we call upon my father’s armies too, Cersei will take the Riverlands and the rest of the south the moment we march north.”

“Perhaps,” Sansa concedes. “But I was worried about Cersei last time too. The Lannisters will never march into the North. If they think we’re fighting at the Wall, they’ll leave us there. They may try and take the rest of the south, especially if we convince Uncle Edmure to join the fight, but that’s not as important for now. We can retake the Riverlands later. We focused on the game of thrones last time, and we didn’t pay enough attention to the real threat. We can’t repeat that mistake.”

Catelyn looks at Sansa, as if she has only just realised that her daughter is now completely different, a woman she doesn’t know in the body of the thirteen-year-old. Finally, she nods. “You’re right. But there must be some way to get the Iron Throne to fight the dead too. We may need them.”

Before Sansa can respond, Catelyn seems to realise that it is past midday. “I have duties to attend to,” she remembers, and stands up. “We must continue this discussion later.” But before she leaves, she approaches Sansa, and kisses her on the forehead. “Whatever happens, know that I won’t leave you this time. You won’t be alone again.”

The gesture is so meaningful that it almost makes Sansa want to cry, but her mother is sweeping out of the door, and her father is looking at her with a strange expression in his eyes. It is something soft, something loving, but also something sad.

“How long do we have to finalise our plans?” Ned asks. She appreciates it must be strange for him, discussing war plans, plans for the future of Westeros, with his daughter, the same daughter who never showed interest in these kinds of things.

“I’m only here for a couple of more days,” Sansa explains. “Melisandre—the Red Priestess who sent me back—said I only have a week each year. At the end of the week, it will be the normal Sansa again who you see.”

Ned’s face settles into a frown. “So we don’t have much time at all.”

Sansa looks at him. “You should tell Mother,” she says honestly. “You should tell her the truth about Jon. She deserves to know.”

Ned looks at her, and she sees his pain. “I love your mother,” he tells her. “At the beginning I didn’t know her, but when I did…I didn’t want her to be in danger. I thought she might be if I told her.”

“We’re all going to be in danger anyway,” Sansa reminds him. He nods.

“I shall tell her,” he promises. The corners of his lips turn upwards into a fond smile. “Let us hope she forgives me. Your mother can have quite a temper.”

Sansa smiles at that. She herself had not inherited the Tully temper, but Arya certainly had. Outside the window the sun is high in the sky, illuminating her father with a golden glow of light. She can also see the silhouette of the broken tower, and that reminds her with a jolt of something she needed to tell her father.

“The King will take you hunting in a couple of days,” Sansa tells him. “You must take Bran. If he stays at Winterfell, his fall from the tower will happen.”

Ned scowls. She can tell that her father is still reeling after learning that sweet, innocent Bran suffered such a horrible fate. “Thrown by the Lannisters. I shall take him. If I can stop his suffering…if I could have stopped all your suffering…”

A lump suddenly wells up in Sansa’s throat. “I should say sorry, Father.”

Ned looks at her sharply. “Why?”

“I should have listened to you. You were right. You told me about Joffrey, and I didn’t listen.  I brought all my suffering on myself, unlike Bran or Arya or Robb. It was all my fault.”

Ned moves forward and pulls Sansa into a comforting embrace. “You were just a child,” he says, rocking her gently. “It was not your fault, sweetling.”

“It is,” Sansa admits, and she reveals a secret she has not told anyone. “I was the one who went to the Queen when you wanted to leave King’s Landing. I told her of your plans. It’s my fault you died. I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry.” This time there are tears coming out of Sansa’s eyes, and the guilt she has buried for years, all of it comes out as she is held in her father’s arms once again.

Ned looks at her, and wipes her tears away with his thumb. “It’s not your fault,” he says firmly. “None of it. Blame the Lannisters, blame the King, blame _me_ , but never blame yourself. You have been so much stronger than anyone could have expected. I know I haven’t seen what you’ve been through, but you’ve been brave and you’ve been strong. I’m so proud of you.”

Even after all this time, Sansa is still comforted by her father. She doesn’t know if it’s the fact she is in a child’s body again that makes her feel like one, but to hear her father is proud of her for what she did, what she survived, is something Sansa could have only dreamed of.

“Thank you,” she murmurs against his chest, tight in his embrace, and she has never meant anything more. 

****

The next two days pass in a blur. Sansa spends as much time as possible with her family, while avoiding the Lannisters as much as she can without arousing suspicion. At one point she is forced, along with Robb, to give Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen a tour of Winterfell. While Tommen and Myrcella seem to genuinely enjoy it, Joffrey turns up his nose at every part of the castle, scowling at the way the ‘northern savages’ live.

Fortunately for her, any time spent with Joffrey or Cersei is overshadowed by hours spent with her siblings. She plays with Arya and Bran for so long at one point, that it’s clear Septa Mordane thinks the world is ending.

She hasn’t been able to speak to her parents since she told them the truth, but on her final day of the week, they have arranged to meet in the evening. Sansa’s father will be going on a hunting trip tomorrow with the King, and Sansa will be her old self again tomorrow, with no memories of what has happened in the past week. This will be their last chance to sort out their plan.

But in the morning, Sansa has another person she needs to speak to. Like he did in the previous world, Jon has decided to join the Night’s Watch. He leaves today for the Wall, and Sansa needs to say her goodbyes.

She finds Jon and Uncle Benjen in the courtyard, saddling their horses. They already said farewell to the whole family at dinner last night, so no doubt they are surprised to see her. Uncle Benjen smiles at her, giving her a hug.

“Hello, little one,” Benjen says, ruffling her hair affectionately. He has called her little one since his first visit to Winterfell from the Wall when she was born, Sansa’s mother says, and it doesn’t seem like he plans to stop. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to say goodbye properly.”

Benjen laughs. “Aye, give your uncle a kiss on the cheek then.” Sansa kisses her uncle, and he looks her in the eye.

“See you next time, little one.” He looks to Jon. “I’m going to get some more food from the kitchens. I’ll be back soon.” And with that he strides off. Sansa feels a pang in her chest, knowing it is unlikely she will ever see Benjen again.

Sansa looks to Jon, who just smiles at her uncertainly. Even after a week of Sansa being friendly to him, he is still unsure of their relationship.

Sansa hugs him hard, hoping to put him at ease. “I’ll miss you,” she says honestly.

She can feel Jon smile at that. “I’ll miss you too, Sansa.”

She pulls back, and looks him in the eyes. “You can write to me, you know. I’ll be here in Winterfell.”

“You might be going to King’s Landing,” Jon points out, but Sansa shakes her head firmly.

“I won’t. You’ll see. Father may be Hand but he’s going to tell the King I won’t be going with him. So you have no excuse not to write to me.”

Jon chuckles, knowing he has no chance of out-arguing Sansa. “I’ll write to you, then. I’ll tell you stories about what’s happening at the Wall, but it might not be as glamorous as the stories you’re used to. I know you preferred stories of knights to those of grumpkins or white walkers,” he jokes.

Sansa feels a chill run through her when she hears the mention of white walkers. “I didn’t like those stories because they always felt too real to me,” she says, not entirely truthfully, but it’s important that Jon realises the truth about the white walkers as soon as possible.

“They’re just stories, Sansa,” Jon tells her. “The only thing I’ll be fighting is wildlings.”

_You won’t_ , Sansa wants to say, and she thinks of Tormund, and of Ygritte. _You’ll befriend the wildlings. You’ll even fall in love with one, a wildling kissed by fire. The real enemy you’ll fight is the dead_.

“You never know,” is what Sansa actually says in the end. “It may turn out wildlings aren’t so bad at all. And all kinds of things exist north of the wall. Promise me you’ll remember that, Jon.”

“I promise,” Jon says, but he gives her an odd look. And then Uncle Benjen returns and Sansa is hugging them one last time before she leaves, letting them get ready for their departure.

Soon, she is walking through the snow next to the glass gardens. She is so busy looking at the gardens, which are in full bloom, unlike they were in the middle of winter, that she stumbles into someone else and falls to the ground, face first in the snow.

“My sincere apologies, Lady Sansa,” a cruel voice says above. Sansa looks up and realises it is Joffrey, who is failing at hiding his smirk.

And then suddenly a hand is being offered to Sansa, and she takes it. Ser Jaime is helping her up, a polite smile on his face, but it is clear he is angry at Joffrey.

“I hope you were not hurt by the fall, Lady Sansa,” Jaime says in his smooth, confident voice. He is not the same person he became in the old world…not yet at least. Sansa can see the same shreds of kindness that exist in him, the shreds that are being held by his sister, fighting to come out.

Before Sansa can respond, Joffrey speaks up. “I hear you will not be coming with us to King’s Landing.” _So that is why he tripped me up_ , Sansa realises. _He knows I have rejected him_.

“Just because Lady Sansa is not coming yet, Joffrey, doesn’t mean she will not come soon. I suspect her mother simply wants to keep her at Winterfell for a little longer. You can hardly blame her, your mother would do the same, wouldn’t she?” Jaime says. Joffrey flushes with anger. Jaime turns back to Sansa. “My lady, you have snow on your dress. You must be cold, let me escort you back inside.”

Sansa smiles at him. “Thank you, Ser Jaime. You are a true knight.” She has not forgotten any of her courtesies.

Something strange flashes over Jaime’s face, something akin to shock. It was a strange sight of the usually confident man’s face. “A true knight…thank you, my lady, it’s been a while since someone has called me that.”

“I wonder why,” Joffrey says viciously, still angry. “You killed your own king, a king you were sworn to protect. You might kill my father for all I know.”

“He killed a king who was mad,” Sansa says quickly. “Forgive me, my prince, but I have studied my history with Maester Luwin. King Aerys was mad. He would have killed many. He burned my grandfather and hanged my uncle without a trial, and there are rumours he would have killed the whole of King’s Landing before admitting defeat in the war.” There had been no rumours, but Sansa knew that to be the truth from her conversations with Brienne and Jaime in the old world. “Ser Jaime may have saved many lives by killing the Mad King, and he brought an end to the war. Is that not what a knight is supposed to do?”

Joffrey is shocked speechless. He turns red, and storms off without a response. Jaime himself seems surprised, fumbling for words.

“That was…thank you, Lady Sansa. It is rare that someone would—well, that—“ Jaime doesn’t seem able to finish his sentence. Eventually he closes his mouth, before opening it again. “You are unlike the rest of the Starks,” he says finally. “I am sure we will meet again, even after I leave Winterfell.”

“I hope so, Ser Jaime,” Sansa says.

*****

Sansa enters her parents’ solar. Both her mother and father are there, both looking weary. Sansa almost feels guilty. While they have spent the day running Winterfell and making plans, she has been with her siblings, spending time with them, having fun.

_I am a child once more_ , Sansa thinks to her shame.

“Sansa,” her mother says. “Are you sure tomorrow you won’t…be the same?”

Sansa nods her head. “Melisandre said I had one week each year. My one week is up. When I wake up tomorrow morning, a year will have passed.” To think of that is slightly surreal, Sansa realises.

“Then we must make sure your mother and I are ready to do the right thing,” Ned says solemnly.

Sansa goes over their plan: when Ned must leave King’s Landing, to make sure Bran remains safe, to make sure they join Stannis and convince him to go north.

“And Theon,” Sansa remembers. “You have to make sure Theon doesn’t betray us again.”

Ned’s face darkens. “I can’t believe he would do that,” he says.

“He regretted it,” Sansa told them. “I spent time with him afterwards. He wished he hadn’t done it, he wished he could it take it back. All he needs is a little push to stay on the right path, and he won’t betray us this time. He just wants to feel wanted.”

Ned nods. “We shall make sure of it.”

They spend over an hour discussing things. Sansa is impressed with how quickly her parents take everything in their stride, and she is reminded of how capable and strong they are. Soon she is confident that they will be able to prevent the tragedy that strikes their family.

Eventually Catelyn stands up. “It is late. We are ready, Ned, you know we are. We need to meet the King before bed. You go there, I shall take Sansa to her room.”

Ned nods, and kisses Sansa. “You shall see me next year, sweetling, although I will see you tomorrow.” Sansa smiles at that. “You are sure you won’t remember anything?”

“I don’t think so,” Sansa says. “I shall probably go back to wanting to marry Joffrey and be a queen. But don’t let me make the same mistakes.”

“We won’t,” her father promises her.

Soon her mother is accompanying her to her room and tucking her into her blankets like she really is young again. “This must be strange for you,” Catelyn laughs. “You are an adult yet you are being treated like a child once more.”

Sansa shrugs. “I dreamed of this,” she admits. Catelyn’s smile turns sad at that. She kisses Sansa on the forehead, and Sansa can’t help but wish her mother doesn’t have to go. She wishes her mother could stay with her until she falls asleep, as she had done when Sansa was young. But soon her mother slips out of the room, leaving Sansa alone with her thoughts.

Sansa thinks about the past week. She thinks about how she was given the chance to see her family again, and save them. _I’ve done it_ , Sansa thinks. _I’ve put a plan into action_.

Slowly, Sansa drifts off to sleep.

But when she wakes up, she is in a strange place. She immediately thrashes about, feeling taller, _older_. Her arms knock a bedside table to the floor, which falls down in a loud _crash_.

Sansa jumps off the bed immediately, disoriented. _I’m not in Winterfell. Why not?_ This is all wrong, Sansa thinks, her heart racing. _I’m not supposed to go to King’s Landing, I was supposed to stay in Winterfell. Why aren’t I there? Where are my family?_

Sansa feels the adrenaline pumping through her, and is about to leave these chambers and run to find her family, when the wooden door opens. A woman walks in, with brown hair and doe-like eyes. Sansa stills, shocked.

“Sansa? Sansa, what happened?” the woman asks, clearly frightened. “Is something wrong?”

“ _Margaery_?” Sansa asks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well....I hope you liked that! The next chapter should be posted soon, and it will explain what's happened. 
> 
> In the mean time, check me out on tumblr @kingstqrk. Please leave a comment letting me know what you think, I really appreciate them <3


	5. Kings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa finds herself in an unexpected place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been a while since the last chapter, I'm more busy now so updates will be more irregular. Sorry about that, but I hope you enjoy this chapter, which as always has been betaed by the amazing sansastarkofwinterfell.

“Sansa, what’s wrong? I heard a crash.” Margaery glances round the room in worry. She sees the fallen over dresser, but calms down when she realises there is no intruder.

Sansa’s heart-rate starts to fall, as she places herself. She knows the Red Keep, and this isn’t one of its chambers. The walls are softer, coloured leaf-green, and the furniture is arranged in a more relaxed style. Outside of her window, she can see woods shining in the moonlight.

“I’m in Highgarden,” Sansa realises.

Margaery looks at her as if she is crazy. “Yes,” she says slowly. “Did you have a bad dream, Sansa? Your father warned us about those.”

 _Her father?_ “Oh, yes, I did. I’m sorry if I woke you, I was just a bit confused after my nightmare. Where’s my father? I’d like to speak to him,” Sansa says, trying to muster authority in her voice. Margaery is looking at her like she is a scared little girl who needs comforting, and she doesn’t like it.

“You can speak to your father in the morning,” Margaery says softly. “He is resting now, he has a meeting at an early hour.” Margaery comes over to Sansa and places a gentle hand on her back, guiding her to her bed.

Margaery is much the same as she was in the old world. She is still beautiful and kind, but Sansa can see the poise behind her words, how carefully she notes her surroundings and situation. Margaery may be even cleverer than the Queen, yet in the end it didn’t help her. _Burnt alive in a fire_ , Sansa remembers sadly. She had always liked Margaery, and being killed in an explosion at the hands of Cersei was not a pleasant way to go.

 _Why am I here? Why am I in Highgarden with Margaery Tyrell?_ It is these questions that linger with Sansa long after Margaery leaves her chambers and Sansa is lying in bed. Just hours ago, she was in Winterfell, and now she is in a strange room in a different kingdom. _But it wasn’t hours ago,_ Sansa reminds herself.

_It has been a year. And anything could have changed in a year._

*****

Sansa manages a few hours of sleep at best, and she wakes up before the sun has fully risen. Sansa has come to love the north more than anything, and she mistrusts the beauty of the south, but looking out of the window, even she must admit it is a sight for sore eyes. Birds sing amongst the green trees. A stream tinkles a short way from the castle, which is made of smooth stone that rises upwards to form a grand structure.

Sansa doesn’t know how long she spends looking out of her window, but eventually she hears a knock on her door. She opens it, but she couldn’t have expected who would have been on the other side.

“Brienne,” Sansa says, the air taken out of her. Brienne is as tall and strong as she was before, but her eyes are more innocent, and a rainbow cloak adorns her back. _She is sworn to Renly, not me._

“Lady Sansa,” Brienne says, bowing down low. “I have been instructed by Lady Margaery to escort you to your father’s chambers.”

“Thank you,” Sansa says genuinely. “May I get changed?”

A few minutes later and Sansa is walking through the corridors of Highgarden with Brienne. Sansa is reminded of Margaery telling her how she would love Highgarden in the old world, and it truly is a beautiful castle. Colourful tapestries decorate the walls, and sunlight vaults in through the airy windows.

“It is a lovely place,” Sansa comments, breaking the silence by voicing her thoughts.

Brienne nods stiffly. “Indeed it is, my lady.”

 “I’ve heard tales of you,” Sansa says, trying to get Brienne, one of her closest friends and advisors in the old world, to open up. When Brienne winces, Sansa immediately regrets her words. “Not in that way,” she says quickly. “I’ve heard tales of your fighting skills, of your bravery, of your devotion to Renly.”

“Many of the knights love to make fun of me,” Brienne said quietly. “It is no surprise you’ve heard of me.”

Sansa stops, looking at Brienne. “I promise, Brienne, I’ve heard only good things. It’s an honour to meet you.”

Brienne’s lips turn upwards slightly. “Thank you, Lady Sansa. But we met a couple of days ago, when you first arrived at Highgarden.”

 _So I have only been here a couple of days._ “I meant properly meet,” Sansa says hastily, trying to cover up her tracks. “I feel like I didn’t get to talk to you last time.”

Brienne is surprised at that. “Forgive me, my lady, but why would you want to talk to me? I’m not even a knight.”

“You may not be a knight in name,” Sansa says. “But I’ve heard tales of your courage, honour and valour. I’ve grown up listening to the stories. Isn’t that what makes a true knight?”

Brienne blushes. “You are too kind.”

Before Sansa, can respond, Brienne stops outside a pair of wooden doors. “If you need anything, I shall be waiting outside.”

“Thank you,” Sansa says, smiling at Brienne. She realises that she may never get to know Brienne as well as she did in the old world. Even though her friend is right next to her, their friendship has been lost.

Unwilling to dwell on such sad thoughts, Sansa knocks on the door. Upon hearing ‘enter’, she walks in.

Her father is sitting by the window, reading a parchment in front of him. Sansa could have laughed. She’d seen her father like this so many times in her childhood, and even though they were in a different castle, he was doing the same.

Her father looks up. “Sansa, I heard you had a nightmare. How are you feeling?”

“I didn’t have a nightmare,” Sansa tells him. “I woke up from a very long sleep.”

Her father looks puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve been asleep for so long,” Sansa continues, “it feels like I’ve missed the last year.”

At that, Ned’s eyes widen slightly, and he understands what Sansa is staying. He stands up, and Sansa moves to hug him.

“It’s you?” Ned asks. “You’re—changed?”

Sansa nods. “Yes. It’s me.”

Ned laughs. “This is so strange. Only yesterday you were Sansa, and now you’re Sansa from the future again.”

“It’s even stranger for me,” Sansa tells him. “It feels like only hours since I last saw you, yet a year has passed. What has happened, father? Why are we in Highgarden?”

Ned sighs, before sitting down and pulling out another chair for Sansa, gesturing for her to sit. “A lot has happened. Most of it passed like you said it would, and your mother and I stuck to the plan. Bran didn’t fall from the tower, your mother never arrested Tyrion Lannister. When the King dismissed me, I went North straightaway.

“When the King died, I declared for Stannis Baratheon, announcing Prince Joffrey as the illegitimate child of Cersei and Jaime Lannister. Everything had happened like you said it would, so we followed your instructions.

“But then Renly also called his banners. He went to the Reach, to Highgarden, and he refused to declare for Stannis. He too proclaimed Joffrey illegitimate, but he claimed the throne for himself. I remember you said that happened in your world, but we didn’t expect it to happen again.”

“I didn’t think it would happen either,” Sansa says, realisation turning to horror. “This is my fault. I thought if Robb didn’t call his banners, Renly wouldn’t either. I thought it was only when so many claimants for the throne emerged that Renly decided to—“

“You couldn’t have known,” Ned says firmly. “When Renly declared himself King, Stannis was furious. He left Dragonstone to treat with his brother on my recommendation, and I joined him there. We are in the midst of negotiations now.”

“But why am I here?” Sansa asks, still confused. “Why aren’t I still in Winterfell?”

Guilt flashes on Ned’s face. “Sansa…as part of the negotiations, Mace Tyrell called for a marriage proposal. He asked for you to come south, to see if you were a suitable match with his son Willas.”

Sansa’s mouth feels dry. “I’m to marry?”

“No,” Ned says straight away, taking his daughter’s hand. “Remember that choice is always yours, and yours alone. We couldn’t refuse the Tyrells, not in the middle of negotiations, but a marriage deal was always unlikely. I suspect they’re just stalling for time, till Renly’s marriage with Margaery is finalised.”

“I suspect I was very happy to hear about a marriage offer, though,” Sansa says dryly.  

Ned raises his eyebrows. “Perhaps not as much as you think. Yes, you accepted it, and you seemed slightly excited at the prospect, but you weren’t desperate to go south. Ever since _you_ travelled back in time, your past self has changed as well. It’s like you’re affecting your old self. You’ve been kinder to Arya this previous year, and you haven’t been begging to go to King’s Landing and marry a prince.”

“Joffrey was a real—“ Sansa nearly swears, before remembering where she was, _who_ she was with. “He probably treated me badly even after that first week, worse than he ever did in the beginning in the old world.”

Ned looks at her. “You never went into details. About what he did to you.”

Sansa feels her cheeks becoming heated. “It’s not important.”

Her father’s eyes have become sorrowful and guilty. “I’m sorry, Sansa. If in your past life, I didn’t look after you properly. All I ever wanted was to protect you—“

“You did, father,” Sansa says gently. It was just like the honourable Ned Stark to feel guilty for something that wasn’t his fault.

“I always knew Arya was a fighter,” Ned admits. He is no longer looking at Sansa, but out of the window, at the sun, which was rising higher in the piercing blue sky. “She reminded me of Lyanna, fierce, with iron underneath their skin.

“But you, Sansa…you were so happy, carefree, joyous. You were a wonder to behold, and you believed in all those stories and heroics and good deeds. I was always afraid the world would be harsh to you, that reality could never live up to your stories.

“It seems I shouldn’t have been worried. I may not have been able to protect you from the world, but in the end, you were able to protect yourself. Hearing all the horrible things you described was hard enough, but realising you were right when many of the events you predicted unfolded…it made me realise, you can protect yourself, and you can protect mankind. Without you, all would have been lost. If that doesn’t make you one of the greatest Starks that ever lived, I don’t know what does. Far greater than me, that’s for sure,” Ned chuckles.

Tears shine in Sansa’s eyes. Her father has never been a man for more words than necessary, but right now, sitting in his chair, it reminds her of when he used to tell Sansa, Robb, Jon and Arya stories by the fireplace, all of them hanging on to every one of his words. And now he is talking about her as if she is the hero in one of his stories.

“I never thanked you for saving my life, by the way,” Ned says, glancing at Sansa, a smile on his face. At that Sansa attacks him with a hug. “Easy, sweetling, you’re a lot taller now. You’ve become older.”

“So have you,” Sansa reminds him, and Ned laughs. Sansa feels pride at that, because it was rare to make her father laugh and smile as much as she had today.

*****

Soon after that Ned has to leave for a meeting with Stannis. Sansa spends the rest of the day exploring Highgarden, with Brienne assigned as her escort. That proves helpful, because Brienne is shy enough to answer all of Sansa’s questions without wondering why she is asking.

Sansa catches up on everything that has happened in the last year, everything that her father didn’t have time to tell her. Robb had called their father’s banners while Ned went south, but the armies remained in the north. Renly’s spies in King’s Landing report that Cersei is getting more and more anxious every day.

 _Good_ , Sansa thinks grimly. _Let her wonder. Let her realise that one day winter will come for her, and this time there’ll be nothing to save her._

Sansa eats dinner with Margaery that night in her private room. Margaery is as friendly and talkative as ever, and soon she is teasing Sansa about Willas.

“Are you looking forward to your breakfast tomorrow?” Margaery asks.

Sansa frowns. “Should I be?”

Margaery raises her eyebrows. “Yes! You’ll finally get to spend time with Willas.”

Sansa doesn’t let her composure slip, and quickly covers up her mistake. “Yes, for that I’m glad, but if I’m being honest I’m a bit worried. I shall not know what to say to him.”

Margaery smiles. “Willas will like you. Grandmother always says he’s the kindest soul you’ll ever meet. I wouldn’t worry about it.” Margaery links arms with her. “Soon we could be sisters.”

Unfortunately, Sansa doesn’t think Margaery is right. As she falls asleep that night, she wonders what she will tell Willas.

She is saved from the difficult situation. When she finally meets the eldest son of Mace Tyrell, and the heir to Highgarden, he turns out to be as lovely as promised. He walks with a cane, but he shares the good looks of his siblings, if not their talkative nature. He reminds Sansa somewhat of her father.

They have breakfast in a canopy by the woods. It is pleasant and friendly, but Willas is much older than her, and as much she likes him she cannot imagine a marriage to him. She remembers what her father said, about how the marriage proposal was not a serious one.

Willas seems to pick up on that. “Do you like me, Lady Sansa?”

“You seem like an honourable person, Lord Willas,” Sansa says truthfully.

Willas smiles brightly. “A true compliment coming from a Stark. I like you too. But if I am being frank, I do not think you want to marry me.”

Sansa reddens slightly. “My lord—“

“It’s ok,” Willas says kindly. “If I’m being honest, I don’t think I myself want to marry quite yet. And while you are certainly beautiful, you are much younger than me.” Sansa remains quiet. “I suspect you know as well as I do that this marriage proposal between us is little more than a farce.”

Sansa is surprised at that. “Your father arranged it,” she points out. “You would say it is a farce?”

“My father does a lot of things,” Willas sighs. “I suppose it is time for us to set the record straight with him. No one is buying this. At the council today, we shall tell them we don’t intend to marry. Unless you are against that plan, Lady Sansa?”

“No, I am not,” Sansa admits. “The sooner we can get to the real negotiations, the better.”

Willas’ eyes sparkle at that. “Ah, you have a political mind. Tell me, do you read, Lady Sansa?”

“Not as much as I would have liked to. When I was younger, I mostly liked the stories rather than my history.”

“Why, the stories tell us just as much as the history, in my opinion, even if they aren’t true.”

“Are they always untrue?” Sansa asks. “The stories of creatures beyond the wall…are they all false?”

Willas shrugs. “Forgive me if I said anything offensive, my lady. I had always assumed they were stories, but your father doesn’t seem to think so. White walkers…they could exist, I suppose. What do _you_ think?”

“I think the Wall is there to keep things more dangerous than wildlings out,” Sansa says. “And my brother is not part of the Night’s Watch to simply protect the realms of men from more men.”

Sansa can see the thoughts whirring in Willas’ brain, but before he can respond, a servant approaches them.

“M’lord, you asked for me to inform you when the council was about to begin.”

Willas nods. “Thank you, Dom. Come, Lady Sansa. Let us go tell the council our news.”

*****

The Great Hall of Highgarden is bigger than the one at Winterfell, and grander as well. Marble arches line the walls, engraved with dancing flowers. Blossoms adorn the ceiling and the glass-paned windows, which filters yellow light into the room. It is beautiful, but it was also empty and impersonal, like nature itself. It doesn’t feel homely or confident or comforting like the hall in Winterfell did.

Sitting in the central chair is Renly Baratheon, as handsome as ever. He doesn’t wear his crown, which lie by his feet, but he sits like a king on his throne. Besides him is Mace Tyrell on one side, Margaery on the other, Loras standing behind them with a hand on his sword.

A man Sansa can only assume is Stannis Baratheon stands before Renly. Sansa had never met Stannis in the old world, but she had heard stories, and this austere man with cold blue eyes fit them perfectly. By his side are two people she _does_ recognise: Davos Seaworth, the Onion Knight, and on Stannis’ other side, the Lady Melisandre. A chill runs through Sansa when she sees the Red Woman, the one who sent her back in time in the first place.

Behind Stannis is her father, who looks at her encouragingly when she enters alongside Willas from the side of the hall. She smiles at him.

Clearly Stannis and Renly have been arguing when they come in, but they both break off and look at Willas.

“Lord Willas,” Renly greets them, “Lady Sansa. It is a pleasure to see you two.”

“King Renly,” Willas says, bowing his head. “We have news. The Lady Sansa and I have decided we will not be getting married.”

Stannis growls. Behind him, Melisandre is looking at Sansa strangely, as if she is seeing her for the first time, her red eyes staring into her soul.

“This marriage proposal was a sham to begin with, Lord Tyrell,” Stannis says. “Now that that delay is over, tell it true. Will you acknowledge me as the true king?”

“You won’t be a good king, Stannis,” Renly says. “The Reach have declared me as their King, with Lady Margaery as my-to-be Queen, because they know I will be.”

“Lady Margaery is to be your Queen, is she?” Stannis responds with a tone of acid. “I wish her luck, she may find a happy marriage with you difficult.” Renly just shrugs, not rising to Stannis’ bait.

“I’m sorry, Stannis. I didn’t want it to end this way, but if the only thing you’ll accept is for me to give up my claim to the throne, I won’t. This council is dismissed.”

Lord Mace Tyrell jumps up after Renly, nodding in agreement. “Oh, yes, yes. Council dismissed,” he says to his household staff, before following Renly and Loras. Margaery looks at Willas and Sansa sadly, before following them. Willas takes Sansa’s hand and kissed it.

“Forgive me, my lady, I must go with my family. It was a pleasure getting to know you.” And then Willas leaves, and only Stannis, Sansa’s father, their advisors and their guards are left.

Stannis turns to Ned. “Well, Lord Stark, this was a waste of time. Tomorrow morning, I wish to see you in my council room. I wish to discuss matters with you in private.”

Sansa’s father inclines his head. “As you wish, your Grace. Sansa, you may come to the meeting tomorrow as well,” he says, giving Sansa a meaningful look.

Sansa’s father and Stannis walk out of the hall, everyone following them. Sansa is one of the last to leave, but she is stopped at the door by the Lady Melisandre.

“Lady Sansa,” Melisandre says, staring at her. Her pendant glowed on her neck, like it had the last time they had met.

“May I help you?” Sansa asks.

“You…you’re not from here.” Melisandre seems like she is trying to work a difficult riddle out. Sansa feels a shiver crawl up her back.

“What do you mean?” Sansa urges. It isn’t possible…

“I sense the Lord of Light on you. A spell…” Melisandre gasps. “You—you’re from the future.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed that! Please leave a comment letting me know what you thought, I love reading them :)


	6. The Flames

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa tells Melisandre the truth, and together they must convince Stannis to go North.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Sorry it's been sooo long since the last chapter, life got in the way :( But here's the next one! Some housekeeping notes: 
> 
> This story, in case you hadn't already realised, mostly follows show!canon but with some integrated book elements. Hence why in the old world Sansa and Jon reunited at Castle Black and JonCon and 'Aegon' never invaded Westeros. But you will see some elements of the ASOIAF series that aren't in the show feature, like Willas Tyrell being a character in the last chapter. Hopefully that's not too confusing! 
> 
> Secondly, some of you were wondering how past Sansa (i.e. not time-travelling Sansa, but the one who exists for the rest of the year) remembers the week when our narrator Sansa has time-travelled to. This was my response, I hope it clears some stuff up: 
> 
> The way I've been imagining it is that past Sansa has a recollection of the week but it's very hazy and vague. It is a bit like an extended dream, and she has trouble sorting out what she imagined and what was reality. She doesn't remember not being in control of her own body, but she does remember how she felt, and that's really the core of this fusion, with future Sansa actually affecting how past Sansa acts. If that makes sense?
> 
> Finally, there is a direct book quote that Stannis says in this chapter. Kudos to anyone who spots it, let me know in the comments! I hope you enjoy the chapter <3

Melisandre’s chambers are warm, a fire blazing in the corner, not that Sansa is expecting anything else from the Red Priestess. Sansa sits on a chair, feeling distinctly uncomfortable.

“I sent you back?” Melisandre asks, seeming confused, an unfamiliar expression on the confident woman’s face.

“Yes,” Sansa repeats once more.

Melisandre looks into the fire, the dancing flames reflecting in her dark eyes. Melisandre had sensed something on her, and she had guessed the truth, so Sansa had told her the full story. There was no point lying to her.

“The white walkers,” Melisandre says slowly, “the Great Other. Azor Ahai... I see it all. I thought it was Stannis.”

“He plays a key part,” Sansa offers, unsure what to say. “But—“

“But it was not him,” Melisandre finishes. “I was wrong.”

“Without you the world would have ended there and then,” Sansa tells her. “If you hadn’t sent me back in time, we would have had no hope.”

Melisandre looks at her, an identical look to the one she had given her in the old world. “Then let us make sure it does not go to waste.”

“You need to help me convince Stannis to go north,” Sansa pleads.

Melisandre inclines her head. “I shall. But tonight, I need to look into the flames…I have much thinking to do. We shall talk to him in the council meeting tomorrow.”

Sansa notices how it is a _we_ , not an _I_ , but she doesn’t comment. Instead she stands up. “Thank you, Lady Melisandre.” And without further delay, she leaves her chambers, leaving the woman alone with her thoughts. _Let her have time to think, to go over what I have told her. Her support will be key tomorrow._

*****

The next morning Sansa accompanies her father to the council room. “Will Stannis allow me to be there?” Sansa wonders.

Ned’s mouth tightens. “I’m sure he will. He’ll probably be too busy focusing on other matter to care.” Ned looks at her. “I’m going to try and convince Stannis to turn north.”

“The Lady Melisandre—“ Sansa is cut off by a voice from across the hall.

“Ah, Lord Stark, there you are, just on time.” Sansa recognises the thick flea-bottom accent before she turns around, and sure enough Ser Davos is there, looking younger and less weary than when Sansa had known him, but recognisable all the same.

“Ser Davos,” Ned says amicably.

“I trust you slept well?” Davos asks as Ned and Sansa join him. When Ned nods, he turns to Sansa. “Lady Sansa, it’s a pleasure to meet you properly. I’m sorry things didn’t turn out well with Lord Willas.”

Sansa shrugs. “Some things are meant to be, some things aren’t. Shall we enter the council room?”

Davos seems a bit surprised at that, but he quickly recovers and nods. “His Grace is waiting for us.”

Together they enter the council room. It is one of the smaller ones, her father had told her, a room that Stannis had been allowed to use while he was visiting. _If this is a small council room, I wonder what Highgarden’s big one looks like_ , Sansa thinks as she looks around.

The ceiling is tall, and the walls strong. She can make out faded designs on them, soldiers moving on horses, swords clashing, between the pictures roses and flowers growing. In the middle is a large square table, parchments scattered on it. On the centre of the table, someone has placed several candles. It is not hard to guess who.

Stannis sits in the centre of one side of the table, his eyes roving over them as they enter the room. “Finally,” he grumbles.

Ned simply sits down opposite him, Sansa taking a seat next to him. On Stannis’ right is Melisandre, and Davos sits down at his left. Around the table are other men Sansa doesn’t recognise.

“Well, Lord Stark,” Stannis finally says after a few moments silence. “It was your idea to treat with Renly rather than declare war straight away. What do you have to say?”

“The alliance may not have succeeded, but you cannot waste time fighting your brother,” Ned says bluntly. Sansa notes he has his ‘lord’s face’ on, the colder, more impassive face, more like Stannis’ own expression.

Stannis scowls slightly. “You wish for me to allow him to run around, claiming to be King? Something we both know is _my_ birthright?”

Ned softens slightly. “It can’t be easy, but we have no choice, your Grace. Your brother is not the real enemy.”

Stannis stands up at that. “And how do you expect me to fight the Lannisters when I can’t even get my own brother to support my claim?” he challenges.

“Forgive me, your Grace,” Ned says coolly. “But I wasn’t talking about the Lannisters.”

Stannis blinks in surprise. Davos leans forward. “What do you mean, Lord Stark? The Lannisters have the Iron Throne. Who else could be our real enemy?”

“Our real enemy is to the north,” Sansa’s father says, and Sansa feels hope spark through her. “They’re beyond the wall.”

“Wildlings?” Stannis asks incredulously.

“Not wildings. The dead. You may know them as white walkers.”

“What are those?” Davos asks.

“Bedtime stories,” Stannis says dismissively. “Lord Stark, have you lost your mind? Have you taken leave of your senses?”

“The white walkers are real,” Ned says firmly, standing up as well. “They are the real enemy, and the Night’s Watch needs help to defeat them. We need to go north if we are to save the realm, _your_ realm.”

“They’re real?” Stannis asks disbelievingly. “What is your proof?”

“My brother, Jon Snow, has seen them,” Sansa says. Stannis’ eyes dart towards her. One of his men scoffs.

“Snow? You expect His Grace to go north and abandon his home based on the word of your bastard brother?” The man laughs, and a few join him.

Stannis is stony-faced. “Do you have any other proof that what you are saying is true?” he asks icily.

It is then that Melisandre speaks up. “They are telling the truth.”

“What?” Stannis asks. “You believe them?”

“I have seen it in my fires,” Melisandre says softly, and she turns to look at Sansa, their eyes meeting for a second. “Your true calling is to the north.”

“Your Grace,” Ned says quickly, taking his chance. “I know it seems impossible, but you have to. The realm is under threat, and as the realm’s true King, you must defend it. Come north, see for yourself that the threat is real.”

Davos looks at him. “Lord Stark, I know you to be an honourable man. I don’t think you would lie. But what happens if we go north? Renly remains south, and the Lannisters remain in King’s Landing.”

“You can take the throne afterwards,” Ned says. “Once you have defeated the dead, the whole realm will see you protected and defended them while Renly and Joffrey did nothing. I will support you, but there is a reason I did not bring my banners south with me. They are staying north, where the true fight is.”

Stannis looks like he is struggling for words, and Melisandre places a hand on his arm. “Look into the fires,” she says.

What happens next is something Sansa has never seen. Stannis spends the next few minutes looking into the flames, and his eyes go colder, the blue in them harsher. Eventually, he speaks up.

“My destiny,” he says, trying to find his voice. “It’s to the north?”

Melisandre nods. “It is.”

Stannis is silent for a few minutes. “There are many arrangements to make. I will need to try and convince Renly to join us one more time. I will need to put provisions in place. But—“

“But you will go north?” Sansa asks desperately.

Stannis looks at her, blue eyes on blue. “I will go north,” he says.

*****

The next day passes quickly. Her father and Stannis are busy making war plans, and Sansa is left alone. She spends much of her time exploring, hoping to find anything of use, Brienne as her escort.

Sansa takes more notes, and makes more plans. She tries to think of anything she has forgotten. Stannis has agreed to go north, but if she can convince the Tyrells…any extra men could make all the difference.

It is her fifth day when she receives an invite by Margaery to join her and her grandmother for lunch. _This is my chance_ , Sansa thinks.

Sansa meets them in a corner of one of the many gardens. Cloths shadow the area, and servants have placed food on the table.

Margaery is sitting down, her brown hair curled back, smiling elegantly. Next to her is the Queen of Thorns, who scans Sansa up and down.

“Please, Sansa, take a seat,” Margaery says warmly. “It is such a pleasure to have you join us.”

Sansa smiles as brightly as she can. “The pleasure is all mine.” She takes a seat and looks at the roasted pheasant in front of her. “The food looks delicious.”

“You’re a cheerful one, aren’t you dear?” Olenna said, staring at Sansa unblinking. “Stannis Baratheon could take a lesson or two from you.”

“I’m sure Lord Stannis is so busy with other matters that he unfortunately doesn’t have time to be _cheerful_ ,” Sansa says delicately. Olenna sniffs at that.

“Yes, I’ve certainly noticed these _other matters_ he seems to be preoccupied with. Three days and not a peep from him. He’s been holed in that council room of his with his advisors. What’s he been planning?” _So that’s why they called me here_ , Sansa realises. They want information from her. “His wife has been complaining about the lack of time he’s spending with her, not that I blame him. If I had a wife like Selyse—“

“Grandmother,” Margaery cuts in. “I’m sure Sansa doesn’t know what Stannis is planning. Why don’t we let her eat?”

Together they all started eating, but Sansa can feel that more questions are going to come her way. The Queen of Thorns is not a woman who gives up easily.  

“It’s a shame you and Willas didn’t work out,” Olenna says after a few moments. “He needs a wife, and you’re pretty enough. Probably because you look more like a Tully than a Stark. The Starks aren’t known for being beautiful.”

“They say my aunt Lyanna was beautiful,” Sansa says without thinking.

Olenna snorts dismissively. “Yes, she was beautiful. It would have been better for realm if she was not. Maybe then the Targaryens would not have been deposed, and we would not have the Lannisters on the throne.”

“If you don’t want the Lannisters on the throne, why don’t you support Stannis?” Sansa asks.

“Why doesn’t Stannis support Renly?” Olenna counters. “Miserable old sod that he is, he should know Renly would be a far more popular King.”

“A King owes a duty to his people,” Sansa reminds her. “If Renly wants to be King, he needs to help save the realm.”

“Save the realm from what?” Olenna asks sharply.

Sansa decides it is time to take a risk. “Stannis is considering going north. There have been sightings of white walkers beyond the wall. The Night’s Watch needs help to fight a gathering army of the dead.”

“White walkers?” Margaery asks, her eyes widening.

“You can’t be serious?” Olenna scoffed. “Stannis Baratheon, leaving his claim to the throne to pursue bedtime stories? And they say Renly is the fanciful brother.”

“These are no bedtime stories,” Sansa says.

“You said he’s _considering_ going north?” Margaery asks carefully.

“His Grace is naturally concerned about leaving the south, what with Renly claiming the throne. He might be persuaded to go north and leave Renly to pursue his claim, however, if he was offered some more men.” _I’ve said it now_ , Sansa thinks, with a rush of apprehension.

“It almost sounds like you’re speaking on behalf of the King,” Olenna rebukes. “You’re just a small girl, Lady Sansa. Why should a man who would be King share his plans with you?”

“Like you said, Lady Olenna, I’m just a little girl,” Sansa says, smiling sweetly. “What threat do I pose him? Why should he care if I’m in the council room while he says his plans?”

Olenna looks at her as if she is re-evaluating her opinion of Sansa. “Perhaps you may be right. If Stannis Baratheon wishes to go north due to his delusions, I see no reason why we can’t offer him an incentive. The Tyrell army is large, and if it costs us a few thousand men for Renly to be able to focus on the Lannister army…”

“That would be ideal, wouldn’t it?” Sansa asks. “I’m sure my father would be very happy to hear it.”

“Ah, yes, the honourable Lord Stark. What does he think of Stannis abandoning the throne to the Lannisters? I know it from my sources he has no lost love for them, and they killed his friend.”

“Why, it was his idea,” Sansa tells them.

*****

“I met with Renly and Lord Tyrell, today,” Stannis says, standing in the council room. It has been a day since Sansa’s lunch with Margaery and Olenna, and she knows Olenna was planning to convince her son to offer a deal to Stannis.

“And?” Ned asks. “Did you manage to negotiate?”

“They offered us three thousand men if we agreed not to take arms again and go North. I managed to negotiate us up to six thousand.”

“The Tyrells have given Renly one hundred thousand men alone,” one advisor argues. “We should take more.”

“It is a good deal,” Ned says firmly. “It is the best we are likely to get.”

“I have taken Lord Tyrell on his offer,” Stannis agrees. “Lord Stark and I have been discussing plans to go north. Renly is adamant he will stay in the south.”

“Good,” one advisor says. Sansa thinks he is related to Queen Selyse. “Let Renly and the Lannisters wage war on each other. Maybe they’ll defeat each other in time for us to come south and take the throne.”

“Let me make this clear,” Stannis says calmly. “The throne is no longer my priority. For too long, I was trying to win the throne to save the realm, when I should have been saving the realm to win the throne. I have seen the fires now. I shall make that mistake no longer.”

Relief floods through Sansa upon hearing those words. Stannis had said he would go north, but it was only now that Sansa was certain he would not change his mind again. Whatever Melisandre had shown him in the fires had truly affected him.

“You are making the right choice, your Grace,” Ned says, bowing his head in respect.

“Thank you, Lord Stark, but the road before us remains bloody and unclear,” Stannis said grimly.

 _The road to peace always is_ , Sansa thinks sadly.

*****

On the last day of Sansa’s week, she is surprised to hear a knock on the door of her chambers. She is even more surprised to find it is Brienne once again.

“Brienne,” Sansa says brightly. “How may I help you?”

“My lady,” Brienne says formally, but Sansa can hear some affection in her voice. They have spent a lot of time together this week, and Brienne’s demeanour has gradually softened, as she becomes more comfortable around her. “The Lady Melisandre requests your presence in her chambers.”

“Why?” Sansa cannot help but ask.

Brienne shrugs helplessly. “I could not say, my lady.”

Sansa follows Brienne. Unlike their walk through the castle on Sansa’s first day, conversation flows more easily.

“Renly means to advance to King’s Landing,” Sansa says. It isn’t a question.

Brienne blushes slightly, but nods. “Indeed, he does.”

“Wars are dangerous,” Sansa says softly. “That’s what I was always told. Brienne, what would you do if Renly…” she trails off.

Brienne stiffens. “I will defend Renly with my life.”

“Of course you will,” Sansa says gently. “I only meant to say…you have been a true companion to me this week, Brienne. If you ever need a roof, or service…you’ll always be welcome in the north. I promise.”

Sansa knows she shouldn’t be saying this, but just in case...

Brienne looks at her, and gratitude flashes across her face. “Lady Sansa, you are too kind. I appreciate your words, although I’m afraid I’m unlikely to ever take you up on your offer.” Sansa can’t help the flicker of hurt that runs through her. Brienne was a true and loyal companion to her in the old world, and Sansa may not get that again. 

They have arrived at Melisandre’s chambers without realising. Smiling once more at Brienne, Sansa enters her room.

Melisandre turns around upon her entry. “Lady Sansa,” she says, in her voice as thick and smooth as honey.

“Lady Melisandre,” Sansa greets her in return. “You asked for me?”

“Yes,” Melisandre says, gesturing for her to sit down. “I wish to talk. I’ve been doing some thinking.”

“About what?”

“The spell…it usually has limitations in how long you can spend each year. How long—“

“One week,” Sansa responds quickly. “That’s how much you could give me. One week each year. Today is my last day.”

Melisandre smiles, and then picks up a pendant from the table in front of her. In some ways it is akin to the one she wears around her neck, but it is smaller and rounder; it’s colour not as vivid.

“Take this,” Melisandre says, and Sansa accepts the pendant. “It will not work today, but after you go to your next year, the pendant will be able to keep you in each year for a longer period of time.”

“How long?” Sansa asks, examining the pendant gingerly.

Melisandre shrugs. “Only the Lord of Light could say. It is a tricky, unreliable form of magic. It might not work at all, and you can never choose precisely how many extra days or weeks you stay in each year…but it could prove helpful.”

“Thank you,” Sansa says genuinely.

“I’ve been looking into the fires,” Melisandre continues, her voice growing grim. “They tell me a lot of things. They’re difficult to interpret, but…I’ve seen dark things. I’ve seen danger.”

Sansa is unsurprised. “The end of the world is coming, Lady Melisandre. Of course there will be danger.”

Melisandre shakes her head. “You misunderstand me. I see danger for certain people, and soon…I see danger for Lord Stark.”

“Father?” Sansa asks, a chill creeping up her back. She stands up. “What do you see?”

“Nothing specific,” Melisandre tells her. “Shadows in the dark…shadows made of ice…”

“If you see anything more specific, tell my father,” Sansa urges her.

Lady Melisandre nods. “I shall. But I doubt anything more specific will come.” Melisandre looks at Sansa. “May the Lord of Light be with you, Lady Sansa, for the night is dark and full of terrors.”

_Indeed it is. And those terrors seem to be coming for my family._

*****

It is dark outside, and Sansa and her father sit by the roaring fire in her chambers. They are playing a game, a game where you must name as many animals as you can, but they have to begin with the letter the last animal name ended with. Sansa remembers her father teaching Robb and Jon how to play it. She had never been interested in such games when she was young.

“Who taught you how to play so well?” Ned asks, after Sansa mentions _auroch_.

“I used to play with Jon,” Sansa reveals. “In his chambers after council meetings at Winterfell, to unwind. He taught me.”

Ned’s eyes soften and he smiles slightly. “You two became close.” It’s less of a question and more of a statement, but Sansa answers him anyway.

“We did. For so long he was the last piece of family I had left.”

Ned is silent for a moment, but finally he asks his question. “How did Jon take it?” When Sansa looks at him, confused, he continues. “The news about his parentage. How did he…”

Sansa understands, and takes pity on her father. The guilt and shame is visible on his face. “He was angry at first,” Sansa admits. “But I think he soon understood. Why you had to tell the lie…I think he was more disappointed that you weren’t his father, rather than angry at you. Until Arya and I knocked some sense into him and told him that even if he was a Targaryen, he would always be Ned Stark’s son.”

Ned smiles at that, but his smile is small and brief. “I should have told him.”

“You still can,” Sansa says. “Tell him when you next see him.” Ned nods. “Did you tell mother?”

“I did. She didn’t speak to me for weeks,” Ned says, and the shame is now clear in his voice. “I don’t know why she forgave me, I don’t know _how_. Your mother is a remarkable woman, and it is to my shame that I caused her so much distress over the years. I never meant to do anything but keep everyone safe, yet still…”

Sansa takes her father’s hand. “You did what you thought was right. That’s what makes you the honourable Ned Stark, isn’t it?”

“Sometimes I don’t feel so honourable,” Ned confesses.

“You are,” Sansa tells him, struck by the fact _she_ is reassuring her _father_. “Before the War for the Dawn…Arya and I, and Jon, even Theon, we would take inspiration from you. Without you we couldn’t have done half the things we did.”

Ned smiles at her affectionately. “Then that shall be my greatest accomplishment, for all of you will be far greater than me.” Ned kisses her on the forehead. “It is late, and time you should go to sleep, sweetling.”

Soon Sansa is lying in bed, but before her father can leave she grabs his wrist. “Melisandre…she saw you would be in danger. Please be careful… if you die…”

Ned strokes her hair. “I shall be careful. But even if something happens to me…look after your mother, Sansa. Look after your brothers, and your sister. But most of all, look after yourself. You’re strong, Sansa, but no one should have to take the fate of the world on your shoulders like you have. I’m so proud of you, prouder than you can imagine, but more than anything…you be safe as well, okay?”

Sansa smiles. “You don’t have to worry about me, father.”

“I shall always worry about you. That’s part of being a father. A proud father of a brave daughter,” Ned says tenderly, before kissing her on the forehead. Soon he is gone, and Sansa is drifting off to sleep, knowing when she wakes up a year will have passed.

*****

When Sansa awakes, she instantly feels much colder. She is no longer lying in a silk bed, but instead on a cold floor.

She stumbles up, confused. Torches burn dimly on the wall, and slowly, she places herself. _I am in the crypts of Winterfell._

She knows it well, having spent more time in the crypts after defeating the Boltons than she ever had before. She sees Uncle Brandon’s statue first, and then her grandfather’s, and she offers a silent prayer for them both.

A chill runs through Sansa’s body, and she feels an invisible force willing her to turn and look behind her.

She turns around, and with horror sees a statue that is all too familiar. It does not look exactly like her father, but close enough. Sansa’s blood burns. _No, no, no…_ _I am dreaming._

But when Sansa reaches forward, her hand grips tightly on the statue. She is not dreaming. Her father’s statue is really here in the crypts, and that can mean only one thing.

Sansa collapses to the ground, sobbing without even noticing it. _Father…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I promise everything will be explained in the next chapter. If you want to talk about why I did stuff I did, leave a comment and we can chat.


	7. Life and Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa finds out that some things just seem destined to happen, no matter what changes she makes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, hope you enjoy this chapter. I struggled with writing it but hopefully it turned out ok! It was also with help from my beta Sansastarkofwinterfell that I felt happy enough with this to post, so thank you Hannah!

It is desperation that drives Sansa out of the crypts as her tears dry, desperation to know what has happened.

 _How can Father be gone? What happened?_ She needs to check the rest of her family are safe. She buries her grief momentarily, something she had become so adept to doing in the old world. She had hoped she would not need to use those skills again.

Sansa wants to break down with each step she takes, but instead she continues. Winterfell seems fine, normal even, with people walking around, people that she recognises. They bow politely towards her but she ignores them all, and goes towards her mother’s chambers. Her mother is the one other person who knows the truth about her and is the only person who can tell her what has happened to Ned.

 _And what if she is not there as well?_ Sansa pushes that thought away too, just as she prevents any more tears from spilling from her eyes.

Soon she is knocking on her mother’s door, the world spinning around her. Her heart thumps loudly, but then she hears her mother’s voice, and enters.

Lady Catelyn is sitting on her chair, knitting. Her hair is as illustrious as ever, but her face is less care-free, more serious and weary. But that is not the most noticeable change.

“Sansa,” her mother says, looking up at her.

“You’re pregnant,” Sansa says in shock. Her mother is as big as she was before she gave birth to Rickon, the swell of her belly not concealed at all by her clothes.

Catelyn’s eyes change slightly, flickering in understanding. “Sansa,” she says again, but her tone is different, more understanding.

“What happened to Father?” Sansa asks, and then her lady mother is standing up and Sansa is surging towards her and hugging her. Her mother holds her close, soothing her, and Sansa lets the tears fall.

*****

“You and your father left Highgarden together, along with Stannis and all his forces. You all stopped at Winterfell, and I was reunited with the pair of you. You stayed for nearly a month. It was then that this happened,” Catelyn says, gesturing towards her stomach. She smiles. “It was mine and Ned’s final night. We always were lucky with conceiving.”

“But you’re nearly ready to give birth,” Sansa says. They are tucked into Catelyn’s bed together, like Sansa did when she was only a few years old and felt ill. “This must have been months ago.”

“It was,” Catelyn says sadly. “I last saw Ned nine moons ago in person, though not a day goes by that I don’t see him in my heart. He died over five moons ago.”

“How?”

“In a mission beyond the wall,” Catelyn says. “It is a long story, and Robb would be better placed to tell it than I, for he was there, but I shall try my best.

“You stayed at Winterfell, but your father accompanied Stannis to the Wall. He knew he would have to provide proof that the white walkers existed. How could he get his men to believe him when he hadn’t even seen them himself? You know your father. Ned was stubborn as a fool, and once he got the idea in his honourable head, there was no convincing him otherwise.

“So, he went, on a mission beyond the wall to find them. Robb insisted on going with him, as his heir. And sure enough, they found the white walkers. They were overpowered. Ned saved Robb’s life. He sent him and half their men back to the wall, while he stayed with the other half to deal with the white walkers they had come across. Only one of those men survived. He came back to the Wall. Apparently, your father fought valiantly till the end.”

Tears were sparkling in Catelyn’s eyes, and Sansa hugged her once again. She is shaking slightly.

“I’m so sorry, my love.” Catelyn strokes Sansa’s hair.

“I was meant to save him,” Sansa murmurs. “I was meant to—this is my fault. I should’ve known—“

“It is not your fault,” Catelyn says sharply. “You saved Ned from dying in King’s Landing. Instead he got to die a warrior’s death saving his son. Because of him, the whole of the North has rallied to the cause. They will fight the dead. They call Robb the Young Wolf, and they fight for Ned’s memory under him.”

“Still,” Sansa says, insurmountable guilt building inside of her. “I’m sorry, mother.”

“You have nothing to apologise for, sweetling.” Catelyn kisses her forehead. “I know it must be so, so hard for you. When I first heard…I think the only thing that kept me from perishing myself was the knowledge that I had to be there for my children. And the thought of another one coming this way,” Catelyn says, placing a protective hand on her stomach.

The realisation fully hits Sansa now. She is going to have a younger brother or sister. There will be a new Stark, all because she travelled back in time.

“Did Father know?” Sansa asked.

“I wrote to him,” Catelyn tells her, reaching for a piece of parchment. “This was his last letter to me.”

Sansa reads:

_My dearest Catelyn,_

_You know I have never been a man of many words. It is hard enough to tell what I am feeling in person, let alone over letter._

_But, truly, I have never been happier to hear of anything in my life. I know our new baby will grow up in a home where he will be loved, and where he will be safe. The knowledge of our child gives me strength to fight on._

_And truly, I need that strength. The cold is miserable here, and all I can think of is being back in our bed, with you and our baby. We have not had any sightings of a white walker yet, but it cannot be long now._

_Robb sends you his love, and to his siblings as well. He is coping well, far better than I could have wished for. I know you will be proud of him, Cat._

_Send my love to all our children. I hope Rickon is not proving too much for you. Soon he will be as wild as Arya. Let the both of them know I would wish them safe above all…but let them have their fun, Cat. The gods know there’s not enough of that. I hear Bran is training Summer well, to fight with him when he is a knight. Tell him I’m proud of him, and Sansa too. Maybe she can give him tips. Lady is the best trained direwolf I’ve ever heard of. And when next year comes, let Sansa know it’s not her fault if anything happens to me._

_I pray every day I can make it back to you. Yet, even if I don’t, I know you will look after our children, and the baby on the way. And I promise you, Robb will come home._

_I love you. I pray both your seven gods and my old ones look after our family._

_Ned_

*****

The grief is all too familiar to Sansa, but it is slightly different. True, there is the ever-present guilt that accompanies her, because she should’ve saved her father, this wasn’t how it was meant to go. But there was guilt in the old world too, guilt for going to the Queen.

This time there’s something else there too, something _better_. Whenever the grief clouds over Sansa, it is hope, not fear like it was in the old world, that keeps her going. She has a younger sibling on the way.

 _I will protect him_ , Sansa swears. _I may not have been able to save father, but I will protect the baby._

She also has her family with her. She cannot deny that Winterfell is far more sombre and on edge than it ever was before. This is not the carefree, joyous place it was a couple of years ago. But it is not the place of death and destruction it had become in the old world either. Her family are resilient. It has been months since Ned’s death, and Sansa can see how each one of them have picked themselves up and continued.

Her mother rests a lot, as heavily pregnant as she is. She spends a lot of time knitting, since she cannot perform her Lady of Winterfell duties. When Rickon and Bran are not with Maester Luwin, they are with her. Rickon is as wild as ever, but when he is with his mother he calms down. Sansa wonders if Rickon will remember father.

There is a sadness to Bran’s face, but he is as sweet as ever. He has started to train in the courtyard, though, and Arya too. Robb tells Sansa he was surprised mother ever agreed to that, but Sansa knows why. She had told her mother and father to let Arya be who she is, she had told them Arya was never going to be a lady. It seems her lady mother had accepted that.

Sansa spends a lot of time with Robb. He must perform the Lord’s duties now, with their Father gone and Mother with child. He does it well, as he prepares and rallies the forces of the North, but Sansa notes his nerves that come through in the smallest of gestures: the way he runs his hand through his hair when composing a letter, or how he unwinds by training furiously with Theon in the courtyard.

Sansa helps Robb with his duties. She had become so used to them in the old world that it is almost second nature to her, and Robb seems grateful for the help, although he cannot hide his confusion about how she is so adept at it all.

It is also a good opportunity to learn more about what has happened in the past year. Her mother told her much of it, but the details are constantly being filled in.

Sansa finds out that Renly’s armies were destroyed in a battle against the Lannisters. She hears wildfire was used, and when Renly died the Tyrell’s defected to the crown. Margaery married Joffrey, and as had happened in the old world, Joffrey died of poison. Tyrion was accused, but he managed to escape from the black cells, killing his father in the process. No one has heard anything of him since. _He will be fine_ , Sansa tells herself.

Of course, Sansa knows where he is going. She wonders everything has happened to Daenerys in the same way as the old world. One thing she has learned, is that despite the changes she has made, the path of time seems fixed on returning to how it was. The events at King’s Landing have played out as they had before, although without Sansa there.

It is the baby that reminds Sansa of how much things _have_ changed. A new life in the world, a life that wouldn’t exist had she not gone back to the past.

*****

_Sansa is in the wolfswood, and she is running. The trees are tall around her, and the moon shines brightly in the sky._

_Her brothers and sister are around her, as they hunt as a pack. They are faster than her. She is the slowest, but she is also the one with the best scent. And she can smell their prey._

_Her paws dig into the ground as she slows down, a new scent coming to her. The rest of her pack continues. They are all wilder than her, but they are also less observant. They have not seen what she has._

_She looks up, and there is a raven sitting on the branch of a towering tree. But there is something wrong, for the raven has three eyes._

_The raven opens its mouth. “Brandon Stark has not come to me,” it says, and its voice is that of a human, an old one._

_And then wolf is replaced by human, and it is Sansa standing there. She shivers._

_“He does not need to,” Sansa says firmly._

_“He was meant to,” the raven says, but there is a sense of curiosity in his tone, rather than anger._

_“I already know much of it,” Sansa insists. “We don’t need the three-eyed raven again.”_

_“He was meant to come to me,” the raven repeats. It’s third eye shines slightly. “And yet…I sense he already has.”_

_“He has,” Sansa agrees. “He will not come again.”_

_“Very well,” the raven says. “Let us hope you still succeed, Sansa Stark.”_

And then Sansa is sitting up in her bed, breathing hard. Sure enough, Lady is not by the foot of her bed. She can hear the howls of wolves from the woods outside Winterfell.

 _A wolf dream_ , she thinks. She knew Arya and Jon had had them in the old world, and she had wondered…but to have it confirmed that she was a warg like the rest of her siblings was a strange sensation.

Even stranger was who she had met. She had spoken to Bran about the three-eyed raven, but to actually see it…

Sansa hopes she has made the right choice. She couldn’t bear to let Bran break his body again in a fall, and go north of the wall with the Reeds and Hodor. She couldn’t bear to lose him again.

_But what if we still need him?_

*****

Sansa is still shaken from her dream when she goes to her father’s solar the next morning. _No, it is Robb’s solar now._

Robb is already there, his auburn hair messy but his eyes sharp as he reads a letter. He smiles at Sansa, but it is tight. Despite having their mother’s features, Robb has never looked more like Ned than he does right now.

“What’s wrong?” she asks him.

“News from the Wall,” he says, and he hands her the letter. It is from Jon, and for a second is Sansa is thrown back to the war for dawn, when Jon would send her progress letters from the battlefront.

She reads it quickly. “The Watch were never going to be happy about Jon trying to bring the Wildlings over.”

“I know, but he seems worried,” Robb says. “I should be there to help.”

“You can’t be,” Sansa tells him. “You’re needed here. There are Northern Lords coming to Winterfell every other week to talk to you and make plans. What you’re doing is important, Robb.”

“I know, but it’s so frustrating,” Robb says gloomily. “Jon is facing revolts on his hands while sending scouts out, and here I am, unable to help him. Stannis is considering garrisoning another castle, and taking the Red Woman with him, though, so that might soothe some of the revolts. Apparently they’re almost as unpopular as the wildlings.”

A chill runs down Sansa’s spine. If the Night’s Watch were unhappy with Jon, they could kill him like they did last time. And if Melisandre isn’t there this time…

She is interrupted from her thoughts by Robb speaking out. “I need your advice,” he says, clearing his throat.

“On what?” Sansa asks.

“The Greyjoys,” Robb says. “I’m sending Theon back to Pyke to ask his father for help—“

“No,” Sansa says instantly in horror. If Balon manages to convince Theon to turn against them again…

Robb frowns. “Sansa, what—“

“You can’t,” Sansa insists.

Robb scoffs. “Sansa, I’ve already made my mind up, I was just wondering when you thought the best time—“

“It’s a bad idea.”

Robb points at the map on his table. “Look, Sansa! The Iron Islands have the biggest fleet in Westeros. If we can get their help they could be instrumental, in terms of bringing supplies and in terms of their support in the fight. We can’t fight against them while fighting the dead too.”

Robb’s argument is logical. Sansa knows she won’t be able to convince him not to, because Theon is his friend and he will never believe he could betray him. There is only one way Sansa can get him to listen to her.

*****

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” Robb says quietly, after minutes of silence. 

“I didn’t want to,” Sansa says honestly. “It’s a great burden to have.”

“You told mother and father.” Sansa nods. “I was wondering how Father knew about the army of the dead. He seemed so sure, even before we got the letters from Jon.” Robb is silent once more, before he speaks again. “I led the North to defeat in your world, then?”

Sansa shakes her head, gripping his hand. Robb didn’t lead anyone to defeat, he was betrayed and murdered by cowards. “You were an incredible battle commander. It was off the battlefield you lost your war. You made mistakes, yes, but we all did. You can’t blame yourself.” Robb doesn’t respond. “Do you believe me?” Sansa asks him.

“Yes,” Robb says, before changing his mind. “No. I don’t know, Sansa! It all seems so incredible. I don’t want to believe you.”

Sansa looks at him sadly. “I know, but you must. It was time for you to know.” She stands up. “Come, we must go talk to mother. Maybe she can help, and she needs to know that you are aware of the truth.”

Before Robb can stand up as well, a servant rushes in. “M’lord, milady, it’s your mother—“

“What is it?” Sansa asks immediately, concern rushing through her.

“She’s on the birthing bed. Maester Luwin says it’s time.”

*****

It seems to be forever before the whole thing is over. Her siblings wait outside, but her mother asked for Sansa to stay with her as her eldest daughter. Despite everything, it is still the first birth Sansa has seen.

But it is all worth it when hours later, her mother holds a crying little red baby. She is flushed with exhaustion, but there is a broad smile on her face, happier than Sansa has seen her mother at any point in the past three days she has been with her. Her eyes are filled with tears. _Are they happy for the baby or sad because father couldn’t be here?_ Mayhaps they are a bit of both, Sansa wonders.

Sansa looks at her new brother. He has tufts of black hair, and his eyes are a dark grey. People said Jon looked like her father, and Arya looked like Lyanna, but in reality, it was more the other way round. This baby, however, looks more like Eddard Stark than perhaps either.

“He looks just like Father,” Sansa breathes.

“He does, doesn’t he?” Catelyn agrees.

Soon Sansa’s siblings are coming in. Rickon goes up next to the baby, eyes wide. Bran is smiling.

“Beautiful, isn’t he?” their mother asks.

Arya’s eyes are wide. “He looks just like me,” she finally says. Catelyn kisses her on the forehead.

“You’re right, sweetling,” she says.

“He’s so small,” Rickon chimes in. “He could be broken so easily. Why isn’t he bigger?”

“I’ll protect him,” Arya swears. “I’ve been training with my sword. It doesn’t matter that he’s small, no one will be able to hurt him because they’ll have to get through me.”

Robb is just smiling. “What are you going to name him, mother?”

Catelyn looks down at the baby in her arms. “Children,” she says slowly. “I’d like you all to meet your new brother, Eddard.”

*****

Winterfell is rejuvenated in a way Sansa couldn’t have imagined. It as if baby Ned brings back the spirit of their father, for suddenly the castle is bustling again, filled with laughter and the crying of babies.

More Lords come than ever to meet the new Stark of Winterfell. Sansa remembers Lord Manderly, booming and loud, but thankfully Lord Bolton refrains from visiting.

Sansa herself spends as much time as she can with her new brother. She still can’t quite believe it, as she plays with him over the next few days, that he exists. _He is so small_ , Sansa thinks. _Arya’s right, though. He will be protected._

She and Robb manage to squeeze in their chat with their mother the next day. Catelyn spends time talking to Robb, and Sansa gives them some privacy. Afterwards, Robb comes up to Sansa and asks her to tell him everything she knows, everything that could come of use.

Before she knows it the week is coming to an end, and it is her seventh day at Winterfell. She glances down at the red pendant hanging around her neck, the one Melisandre gave her. She doesn’t know how it’s meant to work. She doesn’t know if she will wake up the next morning or a year later.

Robb continues to get reports from the Wall, however, and even as Sansa spends time with Ned, looking after him, she can’t help but worry. She is walking through the courtyard, trying to devise a plan, when the guards start to shout.

“Open the gate!” one yells. “There’s a visitor.”

“Who says she’s not an enemy?” another guard responds.

Sansa goes towards them. “Who is it?”

The guard opens the gate, revealing who is behind it.

Sansa gasps. “Brienne?”

*****

Sansa, Robb, Catelyn and Brienne are all in Robb’s solar. Old Nan is looking after Ned, along with Arya, who is spending time with the baby.

“What has happened since I last saw you in Highgarden?” Sansa asks. Brienne looks bruised and dirty, but her blue eyes are strong as ever.

“I was part of King Renly’s army,” Brienne begins. “At first the battles took place far from King’s Landing. The Lannister army rode out to intercept us. We won that battle, but not without cost. Many men died, and more captured. But we captured many men too.”

“Including the Kingslayer,” Catelyn says. “We’ve heard the reports, Lady Brienne.”

Brienne blushes. “It is just Brienne, my lady. But yes, including Jaime Lannister. Renly…he didn’t want to keep Jaime in his camps as he marched to siege King’s Landing. He thought it too risky, it would be too easy for the Lannisters to steal him back.

“So he told me to escort Jaime back to Highgarden where he could be a prisoner. He wanted to keep it a secret so the Lannister’s couldn’t track us, so we stole out in the dead of the night. And from there we made our way to Highgarden.”

“A shame you had to spend so much time with a Lannister,” Robb said grimly.

“Jaime...he turned out not to be like other Lannisters,” Brienne admitted. “We came across some men. Not men that worked for any house, just some common bandits. They tried to take me…if it wasn’t for Jaime, they would have, they outnumbered us. He fought them. He lost his hand because of it.”

 _Another thing that has still happened, despite everything_ , Sansa thinks. Though in truth, this might be for the better. Perhaps Jaime would once again break free from the shackles of his family and be a true knight.

“But how did you end up here, Brienne?” Catelyn asked gently.

“After Renly was—after he died,” Brienne says, her voice shaking slightly. “The Tyrells joined the crown. There was no point keeping Jaime in Highgarden. He was released back to King’s Landing. And I…I didn’t know what to do. But then I heard of rumours that the North were preparing for a fight. I remembered you offered, Lady Sansa, if I ever needed a place…I know it’s presumptuous, but if you were willing, I would be honoured to be your sworn shield.”

Sansa smiles at Brienne widely. “It would be _my_ honour, Brienne.”

Robb simply looks on, letting Sansa speak to her. Eventually, he asks, “Brienne, if possible, could I speak to my sister and mother?”

Brienne bows. “Of course, Lord Stark. Thank you so much—“

“Don’t think of it,” Robb says, smiling at her. “You do us a great honour. I’m grateful that you would protect my sister.”

Brienne leaves, and Catelyn and Robb look at her.

“Brienne,” Catelyn begins. “This is the same one who was your sworn shield in the old world?”

“She was your sworn shield before she was mine,” Sansa reminds her. “But yes.”

Catelyn smiles. “I’m glad she has found you again.”

“So am I,” Sansa agrees. “But Brienne being here…it’s given me an idea.”

“What?” Robb asks.

“You know the reports from the Wall? The disorder?” Robb nods. “I think I can help. You can’t be there, but I can. It’s so similar to how it was before, I know I can help.”

 _And I can make sure Melisandre remains at Castle Black_ , Sansa thinks privately, but she doesn’t mention that.

Catelyn looks at her. “Sansa—“

“I want to stay here with you and Ned, and everyone else,” Sansa says. “I don’t want to leave so soon after he has been born. But I might not even be here tomorrow. If this pendant works…I don’t know how long I will have. I need to leave soon.”

Catelyn nods. “Very well. But stay safe.”

Sansa smiles. “I don’t even know if I’ll be here tomorrow,” she reminds them. “So maybe it won’t matter. Maybe this plan will be for nothing.”

*****

The next morning, Sansa slips out of bed. Instantly she can tell a year has not passed. The letters on her desk are the same as before, and she can hear Arya, already awake, training in the courtyard. As she looks out of the window, sure enough, Arya looks the same.

 _The pendant worked._ Sansa quickly finds Brienne.

“My lady?” Brienne asks. She has already dressed and broken her fast. She always did like to get up early.

Sansa smiles at her. “Come, Brienne. You and I are going to the Wall.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you thought in the comments, I'd love to hear your feedback :) 
> 
> This chapter ended up being way longer than expected. The next chapter probably won't be quite so long, and hopefully it'll be up fairly soon!


	8. The Enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa goes to the Wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys!! sorry it's been a while since the last chapter, i've been SO busy. and tbh that doesn't look like it's about to get any better soon, so updates will be far more infrequent for a while. i hope you don't mind! this also goes for my other jonsa fic (oh yeah, i posted a jonsa fic if any of you would be interested in that? it's a multichapter modern au) 
> 
> other than that i hope you enjoy the chapter! thanks as always to my beta Sansastarkofwinterfell!

Snow starts to fall as Sansa says her goodbyes to her family. As the cold flakes settle in Sansa’s hair, kissing her skin, she is reminded of a similar day in the old world, when she had said goodbye to them to go to King’s Landing.

 _This will not be like then_ , she tells herself. _I will see them again. And I’m going to fix my mistakes, not cause more_.

Her mother has swaddled baby Ned in bunches of warm blankets. “He probably doesn’t need them, though,” Catelyn jokes, looking down at him tenderly. “It’s hard to get you Starks cold.”

Sansa kisses her baby brother on his forehead. As she pulls away, he starts to cry, as if he realises she will be gone for a while. Sansa kisses Rickon next.

“Promise me you’ll be good,” she tells him. Rickon just nods, wide eyed.

“Promise me you’ll come back?” he asks in return. “Papa never came back,” Rickon says sadly. “Neither did Jon.”

“I will,” Sansa promises him.

Bran hugs her tight. “Will you go the top of the Wall?” he asks Sansa.

Sansa just smiles. “If I am brave enough.”

“You will be,” Bran says instantly.

Sansa is thrown off by how enthusiastic Arya’s hug is. “You’re so lucky,” her sister says, and there is a hint of wistfulness in her voice.

“You know you have to stay here,” Sansa reminds her. “Otherwise who would look after Ned?”

Arya nods, before hesitating. “Can you give Jon a message from me?”

“Of course,” Sansa tells her instantly. “What is it?”

“Tell him…tell him I miss him. And that I hope to see him soon. And let him know I’m practising with my Needle every day. I could probably even beat him now,” Arya says, smirking.

Sansa just smiles softly. She sometimes wonders if she made the right choice, preventing Arya from going to the House of Black and White. Now she is sure she has. Arya is still _Arya_ , even though she can fight and be free like she always wanted to.

And then it is only Robb and her mother she has left to say goodbye too. Both have the burden of knowledge in their eyes.

Robb hugs her first. “Stay safe, little sister,” he says, a smile creeping on his lips. “Don’t get scared by the Wildlings. They’re a tough crowd.”

Sansa raises her eyebrow. “Oh, please. Tormund loved me.”

That wipes the smile off of Robb’s face, and it is replaced by a look of shock. “What? How? When I went—“

Robb is cut off by Sansa’s laughing. For a second she almost feels as if they are children again, before they both remember what she has to do.

Catelyn kisses Sansa, before brushing snowflakes out of her hair. “I know you’ll succeed,” she tells Sansa. “You’ve made us all proud, you know?” Sansa just smiles at her. “The pendant…when we see you next—“

“It could be my past Sansa,” she tells her. _Is it still a past version of me if so much has changed?_ “But I will return, next year at the same time.”

“I love you, sweetling,” Catelyn tells her.

“I love you, too.”

Brienne steps forward. “My lady, I hate to intrude, but we should get going before the snow starts to fall thicker.”

Sansa nods. “Let us go then.”

*****

The journey to the Wall is long and uncomfortable. They travel by the Kingsroad, for the risk of bandits is fairly low, and Sansa feels safe: she has Brienne and several other guards accompanying her. Yet even by road, the journey takes weeks.

The landscape of the North is harsh, and Brienne certainly seems wary of it. Yet Sansa relishes the cool air, loves the indescribable beauty of the rolling fields and the rising woods and the jagged rocks. The North is her home, and she is on her way to protect it.

It is a week into the journey when Brienne finally asks the question on her mind.

“Lady Sansa,” she tells her. “Forgive me if you have no wish to speak about it, but I’d heard that Lord Stark…I heard he died fighting—well, fighting things—“

“White Walkers?” Sansa asks. Brienne nods.

“I just…didn’t realise they were real,” Brienne admits.

“Most people don’t,” Sansa tells her. “And why would they? They’ve never the seen them. They’re beyond the Wall. Even if they were real, why would they be a threat? No, better to just make them bedtime stories, if anything.”

“Is that why you’re going to the Wall?” Brienne asks. “To help?”

“There’s a war coming,” Sansa tells Brienne. “The White Walkers, they have a whole army. It sounds hard to believe, I know, but when we arrive at the Wall you can ask the men. Most of them will have seen one. There’s a reason my Lord father allowed the Wildlings to come south of the Wall. It’s because we have a greater enemy.”

Brienne’s face has turned slightly ashen. “I will help you in the fight, Lady Sansa,” she vows.

“Thank you, Brienne,” Sansa says softly. “We’re going to need all the help we can get.”

*****

Every night Sansa goes to sleep wondering if the pendant will stop working and she will wake up next year. But the magic of the spell must somehow sense she has not finished what she intends to do, because she makes it to the Wall.

Castle Black is not as empty or run-down as it was the last time Sansa came here. Instead it is busy, men roaming around outside the Castle. They run into guards before they even come close.

“And who are you?” One of the guards asks. With a jolt, Sansa recognises him, because of course she recognises Eddison Tollet. He had been one of Jon’s closest allies in the old world, and he had always been kind to Sansa.

“I’m Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell,” she says confidently, smiling at him. “This is my company. I believe I am expected. My brother sent a letter.”

Edd grins. “Of course. The Lord Commander has been expecting you for a while. He’s very excited to see you, trust me.”

They continue towards Castle Black, and soon they are being let through the gates. Sansa dismounts from her horse, and looks around the courtyard.

Her heart beats hard. It all feels so reminiscent of when she reunited with Jon the first time. That moment had been the first time seeing her family in so long…she will never forget it.

And then suddenly Jon is there, moving towards her. His hair is still long, for he hasn’t been killed yet, but that is the extent of Sansa’s observations because then they are hugging.

“Sansa,” Jon says happily. “You made it alright.”

“The journey was long, but we encountered little difficulty,” she tells him. She looks him in the eye. “How are you?”

Jon smiles at her. “I’m better now that you’re here. I’ve missed you.”

“And I you,” she says sincerely. She had become so close to Jon in the old world, that it was odd to have parted from him once again. “I’m glad I’ve come here.”

“Come,” Jon says, gesturing to one of the towers. “Let us go inside. We have a lot to talk about.” He calls out for his steward, Satin. “Satin, can you take Sansa’s companions to the quarters we prepared?”

Sansa follows Jon to his meeting room. He pours a drink for her, and they both sit down.

“How is everyone?” Jon asks. His smile fades a little. “It must have been hard. Father’s death…”

“It has been hard,” Sansa says quietly. “Of course it has. But at least we have each other. How have you been Jon? It must have been even harder for you.”

Jon sighs, putting down his cup of mead. “I have devoted myself to the Watch,” he admits. “He died for the cause. He died so _we_ can beat the white walkers, and I’ll be damned if we don’t. For him, we have to win.”

Sansa nods in agreement. “For him, we will.”

There is a strong kinship between them in that second, and they sit there looking at each other. Eventually Jon speaks.

“Robb’s letters…he said there is a new Stark.” There is a lump of emotion in Jon’s throat.

Sansa smiles. “There is. Eddard…he looks just like you, Jon.”

That takes Jon by surprise. “Like me?”

“Well, perhaps more like Arya,” Sansa amends, “and even more like Father. He has brought joy to us all. You must come to Winterfell to meet him, he should grow up knowing his brother.”

For a second the shadow of the term _half-brother_ is there, and the gratitude in Jon’s eyes for not using it makes Sansa ashamed of how she was.

“I would like to meet him,” Jon agrees. “Mayhaps before this war is over, maybe even before it starts properly.”

“You should,” Sansa tells him. “You’ll also meet Arya. She asked me to pass a message on to you.”

“What is it?” Jon says, the affection clear in his voice.

“She says she misses you, she hopes to see you soon, and that she practises with her Needle every day. She reckons she could probably beat you now.”

Jon laughs at that. “Aye, she probably could. Arya was always determined. I have a feeling she’ll end up wanting to fight in the war soon.”

“How is the situation here?” Sansa asks, and immediately Jon becomes tenser.

“Not ideal. The men are getting angry, particularly the men of the Watch. Yet even the wildlings are starting to fight back. And there are more still beyond the wall that we need to save. Not to mention that Stannis’ men often act out as well…”

“I can help,” Sansa says immediately. “Let me speak to them at dinner.”

Jon looks at her strangely. “Sansa, the situation is difficult…”

“I can help,” she repeats.

“How?” Jon asks, and though his tone is apologetic as if he does not want to be rude, the question remains hanging in the air.

For a second Sansa considers telling him the truth about what she knows. She has already told Robb…but it is different for Jon. Unlike her father, mother and Robb, he was alive in the old world. He did many things that are crucial if they are to win again, and Sansa does not want to risk changing that.

And there is also the matter of Jon’s parentage. He does not know yet…now is not the time to go into that story. It will simply distract him.

So instead Sansa tells him the official story. “I’m here on Robb’s authority. I have the voice of the leader of the North and all its armies. Just let me talk to them, Jon, at dinner one of these nights. Maybe I can help?”

Jon sighs, before giving in. “I suppose it can’t do any harm. But, Sansa…don’t be downhearted if they don’t listen.”

“I won’t be,” Sansa promises him.

There is a knock on Jon’s door, and Satin pokes his head around it. “Lord Commander, a reminder that you are meant to visit the armoury in five minutes.”

Jon swears. “Very well, Satin, thank you for reminding me.” He turns to Sansa. “Sansa, I’m sorry. We can have dinner together this evening, and I will call for a full dinner in the Great Hall two evenings from now where you can speak to the men. Oh, and one more thing…the Lady Melisandre said she wished to speak to you.”

“Melisandre?”

“Yes, I believe she said she met you while you were in Highgarden?”

“Yes, she did,” Sansa acknowledges. “Thank you for telling me, Jon.” Jon just smiles at her, and Sansa is reminded that now is her chance to make sure she can save him.

*****

“Lady Sansa, it is a pleasure to see you again,” Melisandre tells her as they sit by the fire in her chamber. “You look well.”

“So do you,” Sansa responds. “It seems like you have adapted to the cold well.”

Melisandre’s eyes gleam. “The cold does not bother me when fires rage inside my body. The Lord of Light keeps me warm.”

“The pendant worked,” Sansa tells Melisandre. The Red Priestess’ eyes wander down to the pendant hanging around her neck.

“Good,” she says, a note of satisfaction in her voice. “It will end when the Lord of Light thinks you are done. If it is working, that means you have something to do. Tell me, Lady Sansa, what is it you have to do?”

“Save the world,” Sansa deadpans.

Melisandre doesn’t laugh. “And other than that?”

“Save my family,” Sansa says honestly, before finally giving in. “Save Jon.”

Melisandre meets her eyes. “I’ve seen daggers in the dark, like I saw daggers made of ice near your father. I was right then.”

Sansa quivers with anger. “You told me you’d warn him.”

“I did,” Melisandre says, and her indecipherable expression makes Sansa angry.

“I asked you to save him!” Sansa says, her tone heated. “You knew, you could have—“

“I could have what?” Melisandre asks. “Warned him? And when I did, what do you think Lord Stark’s response was? Do you think he listened to me?”

The anger leaves Sansa’s body as quickly as it came. “I’m sorry.”

“You have no need to apologise. It must have been hard for you, finding out your father was gone.”

“I couldn’t save Father,” Sansa says, staring at the fires, for it is easier than looking at Melisandre. “But I can save Jon.”

“He died in the old world?” Melisandre asked. “Your tale implied he was key in fighting the white walkers, how—“

“Oh, he died,” Sansa agrees. “But he came back.”

Melisandre is silent for a second. “You can’t mean it.”

“You raised him back from the dead, Lady Melisandre,” Sansa tells her. “And you must do so again.”

“I have heard of those with that power, but I have never…I’m not sure I have the power.”

“Did you think you had the power to send someone back in time?” Sansa asked, raising an eyebrow.

That cracks an elusive smile from Melisandre. “Very well,” she says. “I shall take your word for it.”

“I know Stannis is planning on going to another fortification and leaving Castle Black,” Sansa says.

“He plans on launching an offensive,” Melisandre tells her. “It is all part of his plan. It is a _good_ plan.”

“You can’t go with him,” Sansa tells her. “You need to be here to save Jon.”

“Stannis expects me by his side,” Melisandre says quietly.

“You said it yourself,” Sansa said quietly. “You were wrong about Stannis being Azor Ahai. Jon…keeping him alive is more important.”

Melisandre doesn’t speak for a minute. Eventually she concedes. “Very well. I shall stay here.”

Sansa smiles, one burden dropping off her shoulders. _At least I have accomplished something by coming here_ , she thinks.

*****

The next couple of days pass quickly. Jon spends as much time as possible with her, but being Lord Commander is a busy job.

She manages to catch up with him more at dinner times, but the day after her arrival they dine with Stannis. It is an awkward affair.

“I regret the death of Lord Stark, Lady Sansa,” Stannis says stiffly as they eat. Despite his tone, Sansa does see genuine remorse in his eyes. “He was a worthy ally and an honourable man.”

“We will all feel his loss,” Sansa agrees. Brienne is sitting next to her, looking very uncomfortable as she eats on the same table as Stannis. Eventually Stannis notices her properly.

“You were part of my brother’s rainbow guard, weren’t you, woman?” Stannis says, more than a hint of derision in his tone.

Sansa can feel Brienne stiffen. “Yes, my lord.”

“it’s your _grace_ , actually,” Ser Davos says from next to Stannis. He does not say it harshly, yet even so Brienne does not respond.

“How did you end up here?” Stannis presses.

“I am sworn to Lady Sansa,” Brienne says quietly.

“Oh, are you? Let us hope she does not turn out the same way as my brother,” Stannis says.

“Your Grace, there’s no need for—“ Jon begins, but Brienne stands up.

“Forgive me, Lady Sansa, I shall wait outside,” Brienne says, before leaving the room.

Stannis looks genuinely surprised. “I did not mean to upset the woman.” He shrugs. “Well, we have more important matters to talk about. I will be leaving Castle Black soon.”

“Indeed, your Grace,” Jon nods. “I think it will be for the best. The men—yours and mine—grow angry and restless.”

“Lord Snow, with all due respect, I don’t think this will solve either of our issues. Our men are not very happy to be here, and your men are not happy we are. Neither like the wildlings. Moving might help, but…”

“They’ll get used to it, in time,” Jon says confidently. “Plus, Sansa will talk to them tomorrow, on Robb’s behalf. That may help in the short-term.”

Stannis’ eyes rove over Sansa. “I doubt it.” Jon glances apologetically at Sansa, but she shrugs it off. “That was not what I was meaning to say, anyway. The Lady Melisandre will not accompany me. She wishes to stay here.”

Jon frowns. “But why?” Stannis shrugs. “Your Grace, I’m not sure if that’s a good idea. The men…they don’t trust her.”

Stannis scowls. “Lady Melisandre can look after herself.”

“Yes, but it won’t help with the general feeling—“

Sansa interrupts, realising she must do something. “The men will get used to it, Jon, just like you said. They’ll realise there’s a bigger threat soon enough. They may even be glad to have Lady Melisandre then.”

Jon looks at her again, and this time there is a flash of hurt on his face. Sansa feels slightly guilty for contradicting him and siding with Stannis, but she knows she needs to do this.

*****

The next day passes by quickly. Sansa explores Castle Black with Brienne. Everywhere she encounters soldiers and men, people working in the armoury or training, on and on.

 _When I was went to Castle Black last time this place was near empty_ , she remembered. _And now it is buzzing, people preparing to fight the white walkers._

She does a mental tally in her head. All of Stannis’ men are here. In the old world Stannis lost his army battling the Boltons, but here that would not happen. Plus, Stannis had an extra 6000 men that Renly had given.

 _And the whole of the North are rallying to fight too_ , Sansa thinks. _And they have not marched south. No men have died on the battlefield or at weddings. They are as ready to fight as ever, and this time it will be against the true enemy_.

Sansa feels a true rush of exhilaration as she sees everything. They actually have a chance, a far better chance than they did in the old world. Surely that could make all the difference?

Once Sansa has explored all the courtyards, and even visited the top of the Wall like Bran said (that had been a truly breath-taking experience) she decides to visit the library. She might even find something of use there. She has only just entered when she sees two people sitting at a table…two people she recognises.

“Oh, Lady Sansa,” Sam says, standing up and smiling at her.

“Samwell Tarly,” Sansa says, her tone surprised.

Sam looks slightly confused, and Sansa realises her mistake. “Forgive me, how did you—“

“I assume,” Sansa adds. “Jon talked about you, he described you. I just assumed that was you.”

Sam’s smile comes back. “Well, you assumed right. Forgive me for not introducing myself earlier, but I’ve been busy doing research, as you can probably see.” He gestures to the scrolls on the table. “Oh, this is Gilly,” he says enthusiastically.

Gilly smiles and stands up, but her eyes are wary as she looks at Sansa and Brienne.

“And this is Little Sam,” Sam says, talking about the baby swaddled in Gilly’s arms. “He…uh, he’s my son.”

“You’re a wildling,” Brienne says in realisation. Gilly instinctively shields her baby and steps back.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” Sansa says quickly, smiling warmly at Gilly, trying to put her at ease. “And that’s a beautiful baby.”

“Thank you,” Gilly says, looking at Sansa curiously.

In the old world, Sansa had become quite close to both Sam and Gilly. They were both truly good people, and Sam particularly had been very helpful in the war.

“Tell me, Sam, have you found anything in your research?” Sansa asks.

“The resources here are limited,” Sam admits. “I’ve found some interesting stuff, but not enough. But it’s alright, I’m leaving for the Citadel soon. I’m to be a Maester.”

 _Of course_ , Sansa thinks. It’s for the best Sam becomes a Maester again. He found some useful records there…it would do them all good if he found them again. “I’m glad,” she says. “I’m sure you will find something valuable. And, also…the three of you are always welcome at Winterfell. I promise you that.”

Sam smiles at her widely. “Thank you very much, Lady Sansa.” Suddenly bells ring, and Sam jumps. “Oh, it’s dinner-time. Are you going to the hall? Do you know the way? It’s fine, we’ll show you.”

And so Sansa and Brienne follow Sam and Gilly as they go to the dinner hall. _It’s time_ , Sansa realises. She would talk to the men.

The dinner hall is buzzing. It is clearly the biggest hall Castle Black has, and Jon had told her they didn’t use it often. Night’s Watch men are in one corner, with Wildlings in the other, the two biggest groups. Sansa sees some of Stannis’ men as well.  

Jon is already seated on the High Table, looking rather grim. There is an empty seat on one side of him; Stannis sits on the other side, with Melisandre next to him and Ser Davos standing behind him.

“You’re meant to sit there,” Sam says into her ear, his voice barely heard over the din of the dinner hall. He sits down on a table near the front of the hall alongside Gilly, and smiles at her encouragingly.

Slowly, Sansa makes her way to the High Table. Jon draws her chair out for her, looking grim. Sansa feels several eyes on her as she sits down. _They don’t know what to make of me_ , she realises.

“You sure you want to speak?” Jon asks her under his breath. She nods firmly.

After a few minutes, Jon stands up. The hall quietens down. “Thank you all for joining us today,” Jon says. “As you may know, Lady Sansa has arrived from Winterfell. She is here on my brother Robb Stark’s behalf.”

“Why is she here?” one man asks. Sansa understands that the atmosphere is very different here than it would be to a King’s assembly; here people feel free to speak up.

It is Sansa’s turn to stand up. “I’m here to check on how much progress is being made in the preparations for the war to come,” she says loudly. Everyone looks at her, but it does not daunt Sansa. She had spoken to far more before. “My brother would have come himself, but he is busy rallying the North to your aid, and so I have come in his stead. There have been worrying reports, reports of trouble at Castle Black.”

“Aye, because these crows don’t want us here,” one wildling says loudly. With a jolt Sansa sees the wildling is sitting next to Tormund, who is looking at her…and at Brienne behind her.

One of the black brothers stands up. “We don’t want you here? Of course we don’t!” he yells. “You tried killing us all the time, why should we accept you?” There are several cheers in agreement.

Now Tormund stands up, looking like he’s about to say something, but Sansa beats him to it.

“Enough!” she says, and there is enough command in her voice that everyone is shocked into silence. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Jon and Stannis are surprised. “This is exactly the kind of thing that can no longer happen. Yes, Wildlings have killed men of the Night’s Watch, but you’ve killed Wildlings in return. On and on it has gone, and for what? Who even remembers why you kill each other? Give me one good reason other than that’s the way it’s always been?”

Sansa is met by silence. No one has a response, which she takes as her cue to continue. “I’ve learned my history. What I always learned is that Bran the Builder built the wall not to keep out Wildlings. Look at them, they’re just men!” she says, gesturing to Tormund and his friends, who just snort, but they are smiling. “They worship the same gods the Northmen do. What threat do they pose that we need a magical Wall to keep them out?

“The true enemy are the dead. Over time we’ve forgotten that, but that doesn’t mean that’s not true. Tell me, Sam,” she says, calling over to him, “you’ve done the research, you’ve read the records of old. What do you think?”

Sam stands up nervously. “All the Maesters, all the Lord Commanders…thousands of years ago, it was the White Walkers they fought, the White Walkers they were trying to keep out. Not the Wildlings.”

“Maybe so, Tarly, but who says they can be trusted now?” another black brother questions.

Tormund responds this time. “Us? We know who the enemy are, we’ve known for far longer than you crows. You can count on us to fight them. It’s us who should be worried. After the war is done, who says we’re not going to be cut down for being free folk?”

“Aye, maybe you should be cut down,” a man of the Night’s Watch shoots back. “You don’t even kneel to the King.”

“They don’t kneel, no, and if that doesn’t concern Lord Stannis why should it concern you?” Sansa questions. “As for your concern, Tormund Giantsbane” (everyone looks surprised she knows his name, maybe even a little impressed) “I understand your worries, but you needn’t have them. My brother Robb won’t harm any wildling that tries to help. He has accepted you, agreed to give you land in the Gift. You all know Jon Snow to be an honourable man,” she says, gesturing to Jon. “He has given you his word. Trust in Jon. It won’t be broken.

“I have come from Winterfell. I’ve seen the North rallying. I have seen my brother at work. I promise you, he thinks not of Wildlings, he thinks of White Walkers, as do the rest of the North. More soldiers will be coming every day. This is a war we can win if we band together.

“It’s time to stop fighting between ourselves. I know it won’t be easy to bury generations of enmity, but it needs to happen, because we have a bigger enemy. To the men of the Night’s Watch, how would you like to be remembered? If you can band together and defeat these white walkers, you will be remembered as heroes for the ages.

“And to the free folk, do you not want to save your family? Do you not want to save your _homes_? This is no time for fighting each other. This is a time for fighting the dead.”

Tormund steps forward. “Aye, the woman speaks truly. You shall have no trouble from us.” The wildlings cheer, and Jon smiles, and then some black brothers start to cheer too, and soon the whole hall is agreeing.

“For honour!” one black brother cries, and many agree with him.

“For Westeros!” another yells, and on it goes.

Sansa smiles. _At least I have done something to help_.

But she doesn’t notice a few men of the Night’s Watch at the back of the hall slinking away in anger.

*****

“You did well, Sansa,” Jon says, passing her some food. “I think you truly got to a lot of them.”

Sansa smiles at him. “Sometimes people just need to hear an outsider’s voice,” she says. That was something she had learnt from Littlefinger, and as much as she hated him, it was true. “I’m a high-born lady. I’m as much as an outsider to most of them as you can get.”

“Where did you learn to speak like that, though?” Jon asks, amazed. They are sitting by the fire in the Lord Commander’s solar.

Sansa just shrugs. “I guess I’m just a natural,” she says teasingly.

“You’ve changed,” Jon notes, “since I last saw you.”

“We’ve all had to grow up,” Sansa said softly.

Jon just looks at her, and an unspoken message passes between them, a message of support and strength. “It’s getting late. You should go to bed. I’ll speak to you more tomorrow.”

They both stand up, and before Sansa can leave Jon gently kisses her on the forehead. _Some things truly are the same_. “Good night, Sansa.”

“Good night, Jon,” she responds softly, before leaving.

*****

Sansa sleeps for a long time, and when she wakes up she is not in Castle Black. For one, it is not as cold, and she is in a smaller room.

She scrambles out of bed in her night-gown, and she can tell she is older. She grabs the pendant at her neck. _It stopped working. I’ve moved forward to my next year_.

She tries to get a sense of where she is, but she doesn’t recognise her surroundings at all. _I’ve never been here before_. She realises she’s in an inn, as she sees a road outside of the window.

She opens the door, to reveal Brienne, who was about to knock. Brienne smiles at her.

“Perfect timing, my lady, I was just about to wake you. We should get going if we want to arrive in good time.”

“Where are we going?” Sansa asks, unable to comprehend what is going on.

Brienne’s blue eyes change slightly, understanding dawning in them. “It’s you. From the future. They were right, they were telling the truth.”

“ _You know_?” Sansa asks incredulously. “Brienne, what—how—what is going on?”

Brienne just smiles at her. “Lady Sansa, we are on our way to Dragonstone. That’s where the dragon queen is.”

“You mean—“ Sansa asks, her mind spinning, still not understanding.

“Yes. We are on our way to treat with Daenerys Targaryen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aahhh i hope you enjoyed that! this fic is a blast to write but it can get quite tricky at times, hopefully it went okay though. i can't promise when the next chapter will be up, it might be a while though :( 
> 
> in the mean time, leave a comment and i can chat to you! i'd love to know what you think :)


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